


What We Have

by concavepatterns



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Blind Character, Car Sex, Christmas Smut, Epic Amounts of Sass, F/M, Little Red Riding Hood AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 07:27:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 35,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5576674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/concavepatterns/pseuds/concavepatterns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of tasertricks oneshots (probably all smutty).</p><p>I. Transparency<br/>II. For Your Eyes Only<br/>III. Wolves and Girls<br/>IV. Late to the Party<br/>V. Desideratum<br/>VI. Wolves and Girls II<br/>VII. Not a Christmas Carol<br/>VIII. The Thing About Socks</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Transparency

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my secret santa giftee xxsparksandstoriesxx on tumblr. I hope you like it. Merry (late) Christmas!

**Transparency**

Darcy’s never had much of a poker face.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Now this, Darcy thinks, is what the holidays are all about.

She's currently curled up in the corner of the sofa, legs tucked under a throw blanket while a fire crackles warmly in front of her and fat, fluffy snowflakes fall outside.

Working for Tony Stark definitely has its perks...well, technically working for _Pepper Potts_ has perks, Darcy supposes, since she's willing to bet that Tony had absolutely nothing to do with the planning of their Christmas ski trip, aside from maybe the well-stocked dry bar in the corner of the living room. That pretty much screams Tony Stark.

It's late and everyone else has already gone to bed but she can't bring herself to go yet, even though her head feels foggy and it's taking an almost ridiculous amount of energy to keep her eyes from falling shut. It's Christmas Eve and from the way she's too excited to sleep, you'd almost think that she's ten years old again.

It's just so nice, so homey and comforting to have so many people around her. Sure she has Jane and Erik as her honorary little family, but she can't remember the last time she felt genuinely content like this. Like she actually belongs in this crazy group of assassins and gods and genius scientists.

Christmas had never been much of a big ordeal for Darcy before. She'd been an only child and her mom had worked around the clock to make ends meet, so now to wake up to a house that was always full, to sit around a breakfast table alive with raucous laughter and teasing and enough food to feed an army (or two super soldiers with unending appetites at least), it's almost jarring in how different it is.

But it's a good kind of different, Darcy thinks, slouching further into the cushy sofa cushions and watching the fire, letting the dancing orange flames lull her into a half-conscious state.

She's almost fallen asleep when she hears the floorboards creak behind her and her heart comes shooting up to lodge in her throat.

Untangling her legs from her blanket, Darcy twists to look over the back of the couch and finds that Loki is moving around in the kitchen, grabbing a glass from the cupboard and filling it with water from the tap.

"Did I frighten you?" He asks when he turns towards her, smile half-hidden in the dark as he finishes his drink in one long drag before leaving the empty glass on the counter.

Darcy tries not to stare. He looks good in his whole metal and leather get-up but even better out of it, she thinks, taking in the thin t-shirt he wears and flannel pyjama bottoms that sit low on his hips.

"I live with a Russian assassin and the Hulk," she says. "It's gonna take a lot more than sneaking up in the dark and saying 'boo' if you want to scare me."

"Duly noted." Loki's mouth pulls up into something resembling a grin but there's too much of an edge to it; a dark, wolfish quality that makes a shiver run down Darcy's spine. She wishes she could call the feeling wariness or apprehension, but it's something entirely different.

"Why're you up?" She asks, feeling her pulse speed up as he comes closer, rounding the coffee table and taking his sweet time settling down next to her, relaxing with his legs spread wide and one arm thrown casually over the back of the sofa. She doesn't know if it's an intentional move on his part, but either way it's throwing her way off guard.

"I am a god," he replies. "We do not require much in the way of sleep."

Darcy’s response comes in the form of a skeptical snort. "Yeah? Your brother must have missed that memo. He sleeps like an eighty year old narcoleptic...and snores like one too."

To her surprise Loki chuckles; a rich, quiet rumble that makes Darcy's skin flush as a warm, pleased feeling floods her veins. Making him laugh shouldn't feel that good, but for some reason it does.

"And what of you, Darcy?" He says, watching her with eyes that look impossibly black; twinkling from the faint light of the fire in a way that kind of has her mesmerized for a minute.

She shrugs, tearing her eyes away to watch the burning logs instead. "I just wanted to enjoy this a little longer," she answers. "New Mexico wasn't exactly the capital of snowflakes and ice rinks. I didn't get to see many white Christmases."

Loki hums in acknowledgement and for a while they simply watch the fire together, lapsing into an oddly comfortable silence.

Darcy's eyes are stubborn though and before long they're wandering back to him. Maybe it's that she's all cozy and sleepy and it's making her totally weak and uninhibited, but before long she finds herself thinking of how soft his shirt looks, wondering what the toned muscle underneath would feel like beneath her hands, what kind of noise he would make if she were to crawl into his lap, slide her fingers into his hair and kiss him senseless.

Quickly shutting down that train of thought, Darcy clears her throat, shifting as she tucks the blanket tighter around herself like maybe it'll act as some kind of restraint that will keep her from pouncing on him. 

From the way Loki tilts his head, watching her with a look of clear curiosity, her discomfort must be pretty obvious. She never did have much of a poker face.

"Is there something on your mind, Darcy?" His voice is a low purr as he turns to better face her, knee brushing the sole of her foot where she has them both pulled up on the sofa, and even though it's a tiny, barely-there touch, it still feels like a shock of electricity moves through her whole body at the contact.

"Nothing," she mumbles, hoping that he'll interpret the blush on her cheeks as a side-effect of the warmth of the fire and not her sudden embarrassment.

"I can very nearly hear your heartbeat," he murmurs, leaning closer while his eyes slowly rake up her body. "Tell me: do I affect you, Darcy?"

Can she fool a god of lies, Darcy wonders, tightening her fingers in the blanket on her lap once their eyes meet. Is she dumb enough to even try?

The answer to that is an emphatic _no_.

"I'm calling it a night," she announces briskly, and before Loki can say another word, she's throwing back her blanket and making a quick exit on slightly wobbling legs.

If you can't beat 'em, run away, Darcy thinks to herself as she escapes down the hallway. It's not exactly graceful, but it gets the job done.

When she makes it to her bedroom she locks the door, exchanges her jeans and sweater for a pair of Christmas themed penguin pyjamas, and crawls under the covers.

After an hour of restless tossing and turning it’s clear that she’s still nowhere near falling sleep, and this time it has nothing to do with holiday excitement. This is excitement of a totally different type; a frustrating, entirely unwanted kind of excitement, and with an irritated huff, Darcy tugs off her pyjama bottoms and brings one hand down towards the burning ache between her legs.

Fuck Loki and his stupid, sexy face and stupid, sexy voice.

Initially she tries not to think of him, but since this is really all his fault anyway, Darcy figures she may as well put their encounter to good use, so she builds up a little fantasy in her head, imagining that she'd let herself straddle him back on the couch, picturing his hands coming up to hold her hips, to tug her even closer and urge her to grind down-

" _Holy shit_ ," she gasps, eyes flying open because there's suddenly an extra weight on the end of her mattress, making it dip noticeably lower, and when she looks up, Loki's on his knees at the foot of the bed.

"Don't stop." His voice is throaty as he stares at her.

"What the hell, Loki! You can't just-"

"Don't. Stop." He repeats, and Darcy would be lying if she said that wasn't the hottest fucking thing she’s ever heard.

She stays frozen for a second until her hand starts to move again, tentative at first, but the heady look of arousal on Loki’s face is enough to rid her of any lingering shyness and Darcy lets her legs drop open wide as she picks up the pace.

She doesn't close her eyes now, instead keeping her gaze locked on Loki as he watches her. It feels all kinds of dirty and God, this stupid, gorgeous asshole is going to be the death of her, isn’t he?

"Are you just gonna sit there or are you gonna help a girl out?" She says between panting breaths, tilting her hips up as she tries for a better angle, needing so much more than only her fingers can give her.

Loki's answering grin is brilliant and dangerous and more attractive than it has any right to be as he crawls up the bed, leaning over her while balancing his weight on one forearm.

His other hand trails a line down her hip, leaving goosebumps in its wake before he’s nudging her hand out of the way and replacing it with his own.

The noise Darcy makes is somewhere in between an impatient whine and a dying groan as he starts an easy, shallow pace with two fingers.

“More?” He asks, looking to her for confirmation, and when Darcy nods, he exhales a shuddering breath and adds another finger. “You feel like fire,” he tells her quietly, want plain on his face as he dips his head until his mouth is hovering over hers. “Were you thinking of me, Darcy? As you touched yourself, was it I whom you imagined?”

“Like I’m going to answer that.” Darcy huffs out a small laugh that melts into a breathy sigh when bends lower, nosing along her jawline towards her neck, making her shiver. “Your ego is already so huge I’m surprised it doesn’t have its own gravitational pull.”

“Conveying an insult by way of science? Your Doctor Foster would be proud.” Loki raises his head enough to grin at her, and Darcy almost stops breathing.

Scratch that - she _definitely_ stops breathing.

Fuck, he looks good. The black of his hair and eyes are melting into the room's shadows, leaving his skin looking even smoother and paler than usual. Like some unearthly being - which, she supposes, he actually is. Combined with the look of hungry longing on his face, it makes her stomach flutter with a feeling she can’t quite describe.

It’s the oldest cliché in the book, really. The little lamb getting all tangled up with the big, bad wolf, but there’s no hope for her now, Darcy thinks. She's fallen into his orbit and she couldn't distance herself even if she wanted to.

"Loki," she breathes his name, a bit mesmerized by the way the green of his irises seem to come alive in the dimness of the room, like the glow of neon cutting through the dark.

His mouth hovers over hers until they’re breathing in sync; deep, panting breaths that have no right to feel as intimate as they do.

She isn’t sure who moves first but all of a sudden they’re kissing - hungry, bruising kisses that involve an obscene amount of tongue - and Loki's hand is fisting in her hair and something that is definitely not his mind-controlly scepter is pressing hard against her inner thigh, and _God_ , it’s good.

She make a noise of pleasure in her throat, rocking her hips up in a way that has him responding with a rough gasp that travels directly to the juncture of her thighs.

“For the record, this doesn’t mean I like you or anything,” she says, breath hitching when the movement of his fingers grows a bit rougher.

“Of course not.” Loki’s tone is dry and his eyes are shining with obvious amusement.

“Ass,” she mutters, trying to look appropriately annoyed, but when he curls his fingers inside her, hitting some new and glorious spot, all she can do is arch against him with a soft moan.

He takes advantage of her parted lips to sweep his tongue into her mouth, kissing her thoroughly, and when they part, he grins down at her.

“What else do you wish to call me?” He asks, voice husky as his eyes roam over her face.

Darcy can’t help letting out a small laugh. “Really? That turns you on? Cause I’ve got like thirty more insults I’ve been saving-”

He silences her with another kiss, nipping at her bottom lip before withdrawing. “You are an unusual creature, Darcy Lewis,” he murmurs. “Never have I met one as foolishly brave as yourself.”

“Because I’m not afraid of talking back?” Darcy tries to contain her urge to grin. “You’re not that scary, you know. Especially not when you’ve got your hand between my legs.”

“Shall I stop?” Loki’s eyebrows lift in question and when he makes like he’s about to pull away, Darcy instinctively reaches for him, snatching a handful of his t-shirt.

“Noooo,” she whines, lifting her hips in an attempt to follow his withdrawing hand.

Loki chuckles, letting his fingers drift back to the slick wetness of her entrance.

“There, see?” Darcy says, trying to sound smug but it comes across more breathlessly than she intends. “The little mortal girl in penguin pyjamas has the Norse God practically eating out of her hand. Just admit that you have a total soft spot for me.”

“On the contrary,” Loki says dryly, “I believe it is I who has you eating from my palm, as it were.”

“You really want to do the whole one-upsmanship thing right now? Because I will destroy you-”

“Do you _ever_ stop talking?” Loki interrupts, sounding a bit exasperated.

“Nope,” Darcy quips, “it’s part of my charm.”

Loki huffs like he very clearly disagrees with that statement, but before Darcy can reply, his mouth is finding hers again so she eagerly loops her arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

When they part it’s done reluctantly and Loki presses his forehead to hers, breath ragged.

“On your back,” Darcy instructs softly, lifting her chin enough for one last quick peck before she’s giving his shoulders a gentle shove.

Loki sits up, arranging himself a bit awkwardly at the opposite end of her too-small mattress before he reclines back against the headboard, reaching for her hips to pull her along with him.

Darcy goes willingly, straddling his lap before sliding her hands across his shoulders and trailing them further upwards until her fingers are tangling in the hair at the base of his neck.

He makes a faint groaning noise in his throat when she tugs a little, forcing him to tip his head back. He looks impossibly good like this, Darcy thinks, pupils blown wide and lips parted like he’s a second away from kissing her again.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” she complains.

“On that we agree,” Loki says, voice husky as he quickly pulls off his t-shirt, and, with the help of Darcy’s eager hands, his plaid pyjama pants. “Will you let me see you?” He asks once he’s completely bare, eyeing the baby blue penguin top she’s still wearing, and the politeness of the request is somehow both surprising and expected.

Even at his worst when he’s fixing her with death glares and bemoaning her taste in music and clothing and everything else, his complaints are always laughably petty; almost too easy for Darcy to shake off. He’s never once tried to hit her below the belt. Never reduced her to tears or insulted her intelligence.

When it comes to the others he’s just as ruthlessly rude as you’d expect, but never with her. It’s like there’s an unspoken mutual respect between them, Darcy thinks. Either that or through some miracle she really does have him eating out of her hand.

Both scenarios make her want to smile so she does, answering his question with a nod and lifting her arms, inviting him to pull her shirt up over her head.

He does so slowly and carefully, but the minute she’s fully naked it’s like a switch flips and whatever courteousness he’s shown her is instantly replaced with a hungry, dark expression as he sucks in a sharp breath, eyes roaming over her figure.

“Gods, Darcy. You’re perfect.” His voice is so raw, Darcy immediately blushes, feeling a shiver of want travel down her spine.

“Can you stare and work at the same time?” She murmurs in response, arching closer and positioning herself over the thick length of his erection. “I can’t wait. I need you right now.”

“ _Yes_.” His voice trails off into a low hiss as she sinks down and his hands reflexively tighten on her hips, and when Darcy meets his gaze, the look in his eyes feels like a punch to the gut. He’s lust personified, disarmingly beautiful, and it’s making it hard for her to breathe.

She moves in a slow pattern, rising and falling above him, until Loki’s head is falling back and he groans deeply, hands slipping down to cup her ass and guide her motions.

Darcy lets her head drop to rest against his shoulder, trying to stifle the urge to moan in return.

“Do not quiet yourself,” Loki murmurs. “I want to hear you, Darcy.”

“This isn’t the tower,” she reminds him, lifting her head until their mouths are barely inches apart. “These walls aren’t _that_ thick.”

Loki seems completely unconcerned with the possibility of getting caught. “Let them listen,” he says, eyes locked on hers, dark and burning. “Let them hear my name fall from your lips as you unravel, so they will know that you are mine and mine alone.”

“Yours.” Darcy breathes the word softly, testing the way it sounds.

“Yes,” Loki’s voice is barely more than a low rasp and it’s clear that he likes the way she says it. “Will you be mine, Darcy?”

Possessiveness has always been a turn-off for her, but something about the way Loki asks the question doesn’t strike her as controlling or overbearing. It’s the mutual respect thing, Darcy realizes. He’s not telling; he’s asking for an affirmation. He’s letting her make the decision, to take the lead and be the one to finally put a name to this slow, kindling connection between them.

“You’re sure you want to do this?” Darcy’s breath hitches as she rocks her hips forward, the friction pushing her closer and closer to the edge. “We’re going to fight. A lot.”

“We will,” Loki confirms, pausing to lean forward and press a series of hot, open-mouthed kisses to the side of her neck. “I greatly look forward to it.”

Darcy laughs, voice weak and breathless when he starts to shift his hips up to meet each of her downthrusts. “Me too.”

There’s a reckless, desperate quality to their movements now, the room quiet aside from ragged breathing and the sound of skin meeting skin as Darcy leans in and kisses him again.

All too soon she had to tear her mouth away to pull in a few shallow lungfulls air as the coil of pleasure low in her belly winds tighter and tighter until it finally breaks, leaving her gasping out his name as her back arches.

Loki makes a needy noise in his throat and his hips jerk upwards once more before he follows her, mouth dropping open in pure pleasure, and he looks so gorgeous, so uncharacteristically vulnerable, it makes Darcy’s heart squeeze tight in her chest.

“Oh my god.” She goes boneless against him, feeling like she might slide right out of his hold and drip down into a puddle on the floor, so she’s grateful when he tightens his arms around her waist, letting her rest her weight on him.

“Are you well, Darcy?” There’s a wry, teasing tone to Loki’s voice as he inclines his head, trying to studying her face where she has it buried against his chest.

“Fantastic,” she says, reply muffled against his collarbone.

He lets out a chuckle and shifts until he’s lying horizontally and Darcy can stretch her body out next to his.

The mattress isn’t as warm as his body so she ends up inching closer until she’s half on top of him, legs easily entwining with his as they share a pillow.

“This still doesn’t mean that I like you,” she says halfheartedly, even though she can’t stop staring at his eyes, feeling a bit like a lovesick fool. “Platonic cuddling is totally a thing.”

“You are a terrible liar,” Loki replies with a grin.

“Yeah? Think you can teach me a thing or two?” Darcy asks, returning his grin with one of her own.

Loki doesn’t answer right away, instead pausing to let his eyes travel over her face, drinking her in. “Perhaps,” he finally replies, voice unusually soft, “though I think that in time you will teach me a great deal more.”

Darcy snorts with disbelief. “What can I possibly teach you?” She asks, letting her arm slide over his stomach to curve around him, drawing herself closer into his side.

In response he presses a kiss to her temple, lips warm as they brush her skin. “More than you know, Darcy.”

 


	2. For Your Eyes Only

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for crazynoona and mischiefslady, based on a little discussion we had on tumblr about Darcy giving Loki a risque Christmas card. Enjoy, and have a happy new year!

**For Your Eyes Only**

 

* * *

 

 

If Loki were to describe Darcy Lewis in one word, he would liken her to a hurricane. She is in constant motion; full of fierce energy, wide grins and loud laughter, and, he thinks wryly, consistently leaving a trail of destruction in her wake.

Subtle, she is most certainly not. At least that’s what Loki thinks until, seeming out of nowhere, the object of his thoughts suddenly appears at his side, sidling up next to him and thrusting a forest green envelope into his hands with a blurted explanation of “Merry Christmas”.

Loki narrows his eyes, certain that this is a trap of some sorts. “You know that I do not celebrate your ridiculous Midgardian traditions.”

Darcy huffs. “Fine then. Happy Space Kwanzaa or whatever.”

“ _Jól_ ,” Loki corrects, never one to pass up an opportunity to educate, or better yet, contradict her.

“Just open the damn present,” she says. “I promise you’re gonna like it.”

That particular statement makes him even more wary, but nevertheless Loki turns over the envelope in his hands, noticing that across the front of the green paper she has scrawled a short message:

_Loki, for your eyes only_

Darcy’s handwriting is reminiscent of her herself; bold, vibrant and full of character. It is so unmistakably _her_ that Loki cannot help the small quirk of his lips as he tears open the flap of the envelope.

When he removes the card, he almost drops it as his fingers turn numb, whole body freezing out of pure surprise.

What greets him is no ordinary card depicting snowmen or spruce trees, but a photo of Darcy in which she is scantily clad. In fact, to say that she is clad would be a generous exaggeration.

She is utterly bare, save for a ruby red length of ribbon that wraps around the tempting curves of her body, covering her breasts but allowing for a teasing amount of cleavage to remain on display, and lower still, the ribbon leaves even less to the imagination as it hugs the swell of her bottom, the deep red popping in stark contrast to the creamy paleness of her thighs. Thighs that look exceptionally soft and welcoming, Loki thinks.

An indeterminable amount of time passes before he is finally able to tear his eyes away from the photo and actually open the card to view the message inside. _Your present wants to be unwrapped_ , it says, complete with a cheeky little drawing of a winking face.

When he looks up, Darcy is biting her lip, fighting to contain a smile. “So?”

“ _Darcy_.” His voice comes out sounding unusually husky and Loki swallows hard, trying again. “Darcy, this is...”

“Dinner! We’ve got a turkey the size of a Volkswagen to dig into, so let’s get going people!” Tony’s loud voice rings out and Loki internally groans when the Man of Iron pokes his head into the common room, motioning as if he’s trying to herd them along like sheep. “Grinch and Cindy Lou Who, get your asses in gear.”

“I swear to God, Tony. I will shiv you with a candy cane if you call me that one more time,” Darcy threatens.

Stark makes a face. “Yeesh. Maybe I should call you the Grinchy one instead. Where’s your Christmas spirit, Sparky?”

“If you want me to live up to that nickname, I’d be more than happy to go get my taser,” Darcy offers, arching an eyebrow.

“No weapons at the dinner table,” Pepper intones as she walks by, grabbing Tony by the arm and pulling him along with her towards the dining room.

With the mood sufficiently broken, Darcy frowns. “I guess that’s our cue to go.”

“I suppose so.” Loki looks down to the photo in his hands again, admiring the line of her spine and the perfect fullness of her rear end one more time. What would it feel like to cup that round, firm flesh with his hands? To squeeze and knead until her skin turns pink and she is moaning into his ear?

Growing uncomfortably warm, Loki clears his throat, cutting off any further thoughts of Darcy’s naked form as he slides the card and its envelope into the back pocket of his black dress pants.

Perhaps he underestimated the true force of his little hurricane.

She puzzles him though, and as they sit on opposite sides of the table (Loki tried to claim one of the seats next to her, but they were seized by Doctor Foster and the read-headed assassin, leaving him stranded in between Thor and Captain Rogers), she swaps her earlier brazenness in favour of coy teasing; making direct eye contact with him as she pushes her mass of curly hair over one shoulder, better showing off the low dip in the neckline of her dress. That small glimpse of cleavage instantly reminds him of the card tucked into his back pocket, and Loki shifts in his seat, sending her a warning glare.

She blatantly chooses to ignore it and when she spills a dollop of cranberry sauce on the edge of her plate, she grows even bolder, catching it with her finger and swirling her tongue around the digit before sucking obscenely on the tip.

Loki grips his butter knife so tightly that the metal bends.

Her one little action renders him uncomfortably hard and he averts his eyes, trying to focus on whatever dull conversation Banner and Foster are currently engaged in.

It’s of little use though; he’s unable to stop his greedy eyes from turning back to her. He meets her gaze without hesitation and in the depths of her blue eyes he sees unreserved desire. _Your present wants to be unwrapped_. By the Norns, does he ever wish that he could do that now.

At the far end of the table, laughter breaks out at something that Barton has said, and Loki gladly accepts the distraction; a momentary reprieve from the illicit fantasies playing out in his mind.

How has this one little mortal taken such a hold over his mind and body? He would be angry, concerned, even, if not for the more pressing emotion at the forefront of his thoughts: pure, carnal lust.

“Hey Loki, you okay?” She asks loudly enough for the entire table to hear. “You look like you choked on a turkey bone.”

“That’s what you get when you let Tony carve the bird,” Steve pipes up, ducking to avoid the dinner roll that comes whizzing at his head from Stark’s direction.

“You’re just cranky because I made you wait to eat at a normal hour. We don’t all call four o’clock dinnertime, grandpa,” Tony retorts, and when the same roll of bread comes hurtling back in his direction, it hits him square in the chest.

Steve looks away innocently.

“ _Enough_ ,” Loki interrupts loudly, expression so stern that the table goes quiet and Stark, who was preparing to launch a spoonful of gravy at Rogers in retaliation, carefully returns the utensil to his plate.

For a few long, tense minutes, the only sound to grace the table is the clink and clatter of cutlery against plates, until Thor leans towards Loki, quietly murmuring, “Are you certain that you are well, Loki? You look rather preoccupied. What troubles you?”

What troubles him? The stunning, mouthy, horribly charming brunette who taunts him from across the table, Loki thinks. That is what troubles him.

Out loud, he answers, “Nothing. I merely tire of this inane prattling.”

“Ah. Well, the night shall be over soon enough,” Thor replies, ever the supportive sibling.

Loki grunts in acknowledgement, letting Thor interpret that however he likes.

By the end of the main course, he has managed to rein in his desire, keeping it locked in a tight hold and forcing it down deep inside him, ensuring that it is kept far away from surfacing on his face.

Dessert, however, is an entirely different challenge.

Slices of black forest cake are passed around the table and it isn’t long before a competition begins as to whether anyone is able to tie the stem of their cherry into a knot.

When it comes time for Darcy to participate, she slowly slides her cherry between plump lips, eyes on Loki as her tongue sets to work, and in hardly any time at all, she’s sticking her tongue out to proudly display the knotted stem.

“Nearly as clever a tongue as yours, brother,” Thor grins widely, nudging Loki with his elbow.

“Nearly,” Loki chokes out, tying to contain the hot rush of want that has flooded his veins as he stares at Darcy.

Gods, what other talents has this little mortal kept secret from him?

The game continues and the table’s attention quickly shifts to Barton as he makes a laughable attempt to replicate Darcy’s tied stem.

The diversion gives Loki the opportunity to study her openly without the others noticing, and when she takes her first bite of cake, he watches as Darcy’s eyes flutter shut in bliss while the most obscenely arousing noise of pleasure escapes her lips.

Valhalla help him. This woman will be his cause of death.

His arousal shifts from mildly uncomfortable into an aching need and Loki curses the table’s lack of any type of covering. If a cloth were in place, he could merely slip his hand under the fabric and palm his erection. One quick, hard squeeze would be enough to return him to his right mind, but as it is, he is trapped, forced to play the part of a spectator in Darcy’s torturous game.        

When the meal finally ends, he feels as though he is hanging from a single thread, gripping a barely-there cord of willpower that frays more and more with each passing second.

When Barton and Rogers rise to begin collecting plates, Loki makes his escape, sliding from his seat and weaving his way around the table until he reaches Darcy. When he finds himself at her side, he wraps his hand around her upper arm and wordlessly pulls her along into the privacy of the empty hallway.

“You play with fire,” he tells her, quickly releasing her arm so he will not be tempted to touch her elsewhere. As it is, his self control is virtually non-existent. He doesn’t need any further temptation.

“Funny, I thought I was playing with frost,” Darcy counters, cocking her head to the side while a smile tugs at her lips.

“Tempting a God is a dangerous game, Darcy,” he warns darkly. “Are you prepared for the consequences?” Unable to resist, he steps closer, skimming his fingers down the front of her dress.

“Fuck yes.” Her breath hitches at the contact. "I’ve only been trying to get you naked since forever. You really don’t know how flirting works, do you?”

Bewildered, Loki looks at her like she’s just sprouted a second head. “Flirting?”

“Um, yeah. All those times I teased you, put my feet on your lap, partnered with you on boardgame night...all flirting,” Darcy confirms. “Do you not have that on Asgard?”

Loki gives that some thought before shaking his head. “Courting by Asgardian standards is an entirely different concept.”

“Like chaperoned dates where you sniff flowers and recite poetry?” Darcy says, wrinkling her nose as if the idea of that personally offends her. “Here we do things a little differently, and if you’re especially blind and clueless,” she pauses, giving him a pointed look, “then a girl might just skip flirting altogether and get straight to the point.”

“Your photograph,” Loki says, connecting the dots as her words finally begin to make sense to him. She has bypassed all social conventions in favour of what she truly wants, which is, amazingly, him. “You looked...”

“Hot?” Darcy inputs with a grin.

“Divine,” Loki corrects, voice dropping low. “Exquisite. Positively _edible_.”

She visibly shivers at that, stepping closer and boldly sliding her hands up his chest. “I promise you,” she whispers, “I taste even better than I look.”

“Gods above, Darcy.” He groans, pure and potent lust hitting him like a blow to the stomach.

He cannot get his hands on her soon enough, and Darcy does not object when he closes his fingers around her wrist, eating up the remaining length of the hallway as he hauls her towards the far side of the floor where the bedrooms lie.

His neatly made bed doesn’t last long as he backs her against the side of the mattress, feeling a surge of satisfaction when she lets herself fall backwards, leaving an imprint in the formerly pristine sheets. She fits there perfectly, looking like she has always been meant to occupy in his bed, Loki thinks, and he would gladly keep her there for all of eternity of he could.

“Lie back,” he orders, voice thick with arousal. “If you are to be my gift then I will unwrap you properly.”

Darcy bites her lip, a mixture of anticipation and desire lighting her face as she fully reclines. She keeps her eyes locked on his though, and in them he can see just how much she wants this. From the warm feeling of heat in his cheeks and his ragged breathing, Loki suspects that his own face mirrors her desire quite clearly.

Despite his burning need to rid her of her dress, he moves slowly, starting at her ankle and letting his fingertips glide up her leg, marveling at how soft she feels, how good she smells, and how perfect each little noise sounds as they leave her lips. When he reaches her knee he flicks the hem of her dress up so he can guide her legs apart, pressing a single kiss to her inner thigh before moving higher, nosing a path up to the juncture of her thighs.

Darcy’s hips lift automatically and she makes a sound of annoyance when he skims fingertips along the edge of her panties, moving at a torturously slow pace.

“Come on,” she says, starting to reach for the zipper on the side of her dress, but Loki stops her by closing his hand over hers.

“I told you there would be consequences,” he reminds, feeling pleased when she presses her lips together into a firm line, clearly irritated. Good. She deserves a taste of her own medicine, as maddening as it may be for Loki himself to have to wait.

She’s delightfully vocal and demanding as she writhes under him, and once he’s relented and rid her of her panties, Loki moves to unclasp the necklace she wears. When he pulls the silver jewellery away, his fingers dip low to trace the swell of her breasts, causing Darcy to shiver.

“Fuck, Loki. Just touch me,” she begs, voice so full of want that Loki has to clench a fist in the bedspread, fighting to keep himself in check.

“I fully intend to, once I determine whether you have been sufficiently punished,” he drawls, biting back his amusement when Darcy whines in frustration, propping herself up on her elbows to level a glare at him.

“Okay, okay. I get it,” she huffs, rolling her eyes. “Payback’s a bitch and all that. Now will you _please_ get me out of this dress?”

He has tormented her for long enough, Loki thinks, and himself as well. He is unraveling just as quickly as she is, if his quickened heartbeat and the heavy weight of his throbbing erection is any indication.

Leaning closer, he dips his head, pressing his lips to hers. “My pleasure.”

There’s no delay now as he works down the zipper of her dress, peeling away fabric until Darcy is bare before him, and _Gods_ , she’s even more beautiful than she appeared in her photograph.

Loki’s eyes roam over her pale skin, feeling the overwhelming urge to lean in and taste it, so he does, dropping his mouth first to her bare shoulder, then her collarbone, then lower still until Darcy is knotting her fingers into his hair with a throaty moan, back arching off the mattress as she offers more of herself to him.

The noise only amplifies his need and when he finds himself instinctively rubbing against her thigh, desperately seeking friction, Loki tears his mouth away from her breasts to meet her eyes.

“Darcy, may I...?”

She laughs, shaking her head like she can’t quite believe what he’s just asked. “Do you really need any more of an invitation?”

He doesn’t quite know how to reply to that - he doesn’t know if he will ever grow accustomed to Darcy’s refreshingly blunt way of speaking, really - but he’s saved from having to muster a response when she winds her arms around his neck, tilting her chin up so she can whisper in his ear.

“ _Yes_.”

With that, he wastes no time in magicking his clothing away, too impatient to undress himself the traditional Midgardian way.

Still though, despite his urgent need, Loki moves slowly, being especially attentive to each of Darcy’s little gasps and moans as he settles himself between her thighs. She may have presented herself as a gift to him, but Loki isn’t about to take from her without ensuring that he has given her equal pleasure in return.

When he lets the tip of his cock glide along her slick folds, the heat and wetness of her is intoxicating, leaving him lightheaded with arousal, and when he finally presses into her, feeling her cant her hips, drawing him in and enveloping him warmly, he very nearly loses himself.

“Fucking hell,” he groans, “you feel incredible.”

Darcy is silent for a moment, lips parted in a soft ‘o’ as she drags in ragged breaths. “I could say the same about you,” she replies at last, voice thick and throaty in a way that makes Loki groan again as he nudges his hips against hers, seating himself fully inside her.

At that, Darcy makes a pleased noise, angling her hips up to meet him. “Oh my god, that feels good.” She’s panting as she rakes her nails down his back, and Loki’s hips automatically jerk forward in response, perhaps a bit too roughly, he thinks, judging from Darcy’s sudden, sharp intake of breath.

Just as he’s about to apologize, she surprises him, tightening her thighs around him and demanding, “Do that again.”

In hindsight, he should have known that she would be no tender, passive little thing in bed.

“Gods, Darcy,” Loki rasps, hips snapping forward in another rough thrust. “Like this?”

“Mmm, yeah. Just like that.” Tangling her fingers in his hair, she drags him down for a kiss.

It’s hard and hot and unrefined, and in that moment, Loki knows that his fate is sealed. He has been swept up in the hurricane that is Darcy Lewis, and chaos, he thinks, has never tasted so sweet.

He prides himself on his finesse, in everything from fighting to lovemaking, but with her there is no elegance and composure. There is only raw need and clumsy eagerness as she bumps her forehead against his in her impatience to kiss him, and he finds himself unintentionally pulling her hair in his haste to touch as much of her as possible.

“Oh my god. We’re amazing terrible at this.” Darcy is laughing as she hooks her thigh higher around his waist, shifting all her weight onto one side and using the momentum to roll over until Loki is on his back and she is straddling his lap.

In this position, the sight above him takes his breath away. Darcy, with her hair dishevelled, cheeks flushed pink, and a brilliantly silly grin on her face, looks every bit a goddess as she sits astride him.

“I think you mean terribly amazing,” Loki counters, groaning when she begins rocking her hips, riding him with slow, sure motions. “I certainly have no complaints.” He reaches up to palm her breasts, delighting in the way her eyes flutter shut as she draws her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Maybe you’re right,” she pants, planting her palms on his abdomen for better leverage as she leans into his touch. “We’ll get better. We’ll practice.”

“Practice?” Loki chuckles, breaking off into a choked curse when she rolls her hips in a particularly incredible way.

“Yep,” Darcy confirms, pausing to bend and kiss him thoroughly before continuing. “Lots of practice, like tomorrow night. And the night after that. And the night after that.”

“I’ve no objections to that.” Loki slides his hands down her sides, pausing at her hips as he gets momentarily lost in their mesmerizing, undulating pattern before he slips his palms around to cup her backside. “I had wondered,” he confesses, gently squeezing the perfect fullness of her cheeks, “whether this would feel as good as it looked in your photograph.”

Darcy stifles a soft moan, pressing herself more firmly against his hands. “And?”

“Even better,” he tells her, tightening his grip until she moans in earnest this time, the steady movement of her hips becoming desperate and more disjointed as he feels her body begin to tremble.

“What do you need, Darcy?” He murmurs, drinking in the sight of her rising and falling in waves above him, a beautifully desperate look of pleasure on her face.

“Harder,” she breaths, “just a little harder.”

Grasping her hips, he helps her move now, guiding her motions until she stutters, back bowing as she comes apart with a low and throaty moan.

“ _Darcy_.” His voice cracks, overcome with the sensation of her contracting around him, and Loki can hold off his own release no longer.

She bends her body over him, needing something to anchor her, and he instinctively pulls her close, holding her like a lifeline as they ride out the aftermath together.

“I saw you watching me at dinner,” she says afterwards as they catch their breath, lying next to each other in similar poses, on their backs as they stare up at the darkened ceiling. “If you thought you were being subtle about it, you really weren’t. When I tied that cherry stem, the look on your face was priceless.”

Loki turns his head, eyes narrowing at her. “You were clearly provoking me.”

“Damn right I was,” Darcy replies proudly, rolling onto her side and planting a kiss on the tip of his nose that causes Loki to make a face that falls somewhere in between annoyed and embarrassed.

He makes a noncommittal _hmph_ sound in response, refusing to admit just how much he enjoys her teasing words and easy touches.

“I liked it, feeling your eyes on me,” she adds, voice dropping until it’s quiet and sultry as her gaze fixes on his mouth, and Loki immediately feels himself begin to harden again when her tongue darts out to wet her lips.

“Did you now?” He murmurs, shifting onto his side to face her.

“Yeah,” Darcy whispers, breath hitching when Loki rolls his body over hers, dropping his head to nuzzle a path along the side of her neck, alternating between warm kisses and the gentle scrape of teeth until her fingers are moving through his hair and her legs fall open invitingly.

“Again?” She asks breathlessly, sounding a bit surprised but not at all unwilling when he shifts to nestle his growing erection against her wet heat.

“As you said, we have much to practice.” Loki feels his mouth quirk up into a grin as he presses his lips to the tender skin below her ear, eliciting a small shiver from Darcy.

“Maybe this time we won’t be fumbling like horny teenagers,” she says, hooking her ankles around the backs of his thighs to draw him forward, and when the head of his cock slips into her, they moan in time with each other.

As it turns out, it’s not any more elegant or refined the second time around, or the time after that, but neither of them truly care.

 

 


	3. Wolves and Girls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little present for mischiefslady, who posted [this](http://mischiefslady.tumblr.com/post/130006185722) a few months ago and the idea wouldn't leave me alone, so I had to write a thing....a very long, hella smutty thing. I hope you like it!!

**Wolves and Girls**

_“... there are stories about wolves and girls. Girls in red. All alone in the woods. About to get eaten up. Wolves and girls. Both have sharp teeth.” - Black Widow: The Name of the Rose_

** **

Artwork courtesy of the lovely and talented [soothsayerstale](http://soothsayerstale.tumblr.com/) (who is also on [AO3](http://archiveofourown.org/users/crazynoona) and you should go devour all her fics right now). Thank you so much, Noona! <3 _  
_

 

 

* * *

 

 

Of all the mundane things that could have changed her life, it starts, oddly enough, with a walk in the park.

Burying the tip of her pink nose into her thick knitted scarf, Darcy increases her pace, moving with quick steps and eyes downcast, watching the path sprawled out before her.

It’s much later than she’d thought it was. She had meant to leave Jane’s place by ten but their conversation had drawn on like it always has a tendency to do and by the time she’d checked the clock, it was half past midnight.

So now she finds herself hurrying home in the chilly, late night autumn air, deciding to shortcut through a line of trees and slip into a nearby park. Following the park’s walking trail will shave off a good amount of distance and she’ll be home in no time now, Darcy thinks. She can’t wait to pull on some cozy pyjamas and crawl into her warm bed.

The park is dark and almost eerily deserted, but there are streetlamps dotting both sides of the path and Darcy’s got her taser hidden away in the deep pocket of her red wool coat, so she’s not too concerned.

Still, when a twig snaps somewhere to her left, her heart leaps up into her throat, hammering so hard she can hear it echoing in her head.

She stills, squinting into the murky dimness of the treeline before realizing that it’s an incredibly stupid idea to stop, so she sets off briskly, walking as fast as she can without outright sprinting, and trying to ignore the weird prickling feeling on the back of her neck. It’s almost like she’s being watched.

Shaking off the feeling, she focused on making her feet move faster, and up ahead, she can make out the tall iron arches that curve over the park’s exit gate, leading back out onto the street. It’s just a little bit further now. She’s almost there.

That’s when something snags her arm and Darcy whirls around with a breathless squeak, fear stealing away her voice.

It’s a hand. A hand attached to a man, that is, and he doesn’t look very happy.

“Give me your purse,” he demands, eyes cold and detached in a way that makes her stomach feel like she’s swallowed a block of ice.

Darcy’s hand dives into her pocket and when her fingers close around the comforting plastic casing of her taser, some of her bravery returns.

“Fuck off,” she retorts, pulling her arm away.

His hand is like a vice though, growing tighter until she can feel each of his fingers pressing bruises into her upper arm.

She yanks harder, so surprised when she actually manages to break free that the momentum makes her lose her balance and she falls backwards, landing on her ass.

A million warning bells are going off in her head, telling her to get the hell up and run, only when Darcy looks up from her unintended seat on the pavement, she finds that the man’s attention isn’t even directed at her anymore.

He’s staring over her head, gaze transfixed on something in the distance.

“Holy shit,” he says, eyes widening, and without so much as even a glance back at her, he takes off at a run towards the gate.

For a minute Darcy can do nothing but sit there breathing, trying to collect herself as she wills her pulse to gradually slow to a more normal rate.

And then she hears it.

A low, growly noise that brings with it a wave of goosebumps that roll over her skin, making her shiver.

She’s not alone, and as if that idea isn’t frightening enough, whatever’s out there is nasty enough to have caused her would-be mugger to take off with his tail between his legs. It’s not exactly comforting, to say the least.

Her stomach dips and she feels a little sick as she scans the shadows, not knowing which direction the sound is coming from. It seems like it’s everywhere at once, and Darcy sincerely hopes that whatever is hiding out in those trees didn’t bring any company along with it.

Finally she sees it; two bright green eyes staring at her, cutting through the darkness, and she bites her lip hard, trying not to make any noise as the eyes grow increasingly large and vivid the closer they come towards her.

It’s a wolf, she realizes as soon as it steps under the weak light of the streetlamp. A huge, black wolf that still hasn’t taken its eyes off of her.

She stops breathing as it pads towards her, nails clicking on the pavement, and it’s odd, Darcy thinks. The animal doesn’t seem to be the slightest bit wary or aggressive. Maybe luck is on her side tonight.

Still, it’s downright intimidating to be stared down by something like that. A carnivore in the truest sense of the word.

The wolf is tall and muscled, with teeth that could probably tear a frightening amount of flesh from her bones, and Darcy can’t help the soft whimper she makes when it draws nearer, its large paw dwarfing her hand when one comes to land just inches from her fingers.

She feels frozen in place as it starts sniffing along her body, almost like it’s checking for injuries before it makes a whining noise, nosing at her hand until she’s turned it over and the wolf presses its muzzle into her palm.

“Hey there,” she says quietly, tentatively. He hasn’t snapped her hand off yet, so Darcy figures that must be a good sign. Maybe he’s grown accustomed to people. This is the core of the city, after all. She wouldn’t be surprised if the wildlife were a bit domesticated because of that.

The wolf licks her palm with a swipe of its warm tongue before sitting back on its haunches, looking at her.

“Did you scare that guy away for me?” She murmurs, feeling a bit stupid for carrying on a conversation with an animal, but she swears that she can see the wolf dip his head in reply.

_Yes_.

“Thanks. I owe you one.” She pushes herself back onto her feet, wiping the dirt and gravel from the seat of her jeans. “Um, I guess I should go.”

She takes three steps and is surprised to find that the wolf trots after her, like he’s a golden retriever and not some dangerous, wild predator.

“Are you my guard dog now?” She asks with faint amusement, eyebrows lifting in question.

The wolf growls low in its throat.

“Sorry, sorry.” Darcy holds her hands up in apology. “Not a dog. Got it.”

He seems content with that and continues to follow her down the path until Darcy reaches the gate, and now that the lights are brighter and the noise of traffic is loud in her ears, the wolf begins to inch back towards the darkness as if to say _I go no further than this_.

The idea of leaving without saying goodbye feels weirdly wrong to Darcy (not that stopping to express her gratitude an overgrown canine sounds any _less_ weird), so she crouches down, holding her hand out.

With a brief moment of hesitation the wolf steps forward again, wet nose nudging along her extended fingertips, and eventually he comes close enough that Darcy can run a hand softly down his back, feeling the thick black fur glide through her fingers.

She should be afraid – Darcy knows she’s playing a dangerous game – but the wolf looks so pleased by her attentions that she can’t help herself from bringing her hand up to scratch behind his ear.

He immediately tilts his head, following her touch and allowing her to cradle the side of his face with her palm.

“Thanks,” she whispers, reluctantly straightening up to her full height and shoving her hands in her pockets as she turns to leave.

When she passes through the park gate she instinctively turns to look back, but her wolf is already gone.

* * *

 

That night, black hair and striking green eyes haunt her dreams, and she isn’t sure why she does it, but the next evening finds Darcy trudging down the sidewalk towards the park with a greasy paper bag tucked under one arm.

She returns to the same spot as before, sitting in the dry, half-dead grass at the side of the walkway as she pulls two hamburgers from their bag.

For a while Darcy busies herself with picking off the pieces of onion and pickles, tossing them back into the brown paper bag and licking a few stray blobs of ketchup from her fingertips.

Then she waits.

She isn’t sure how much time passes but eventually a rustling noise catches her attention and she sits up straighter, feeling a smile start to work its way onto her face as she recognizes a pair of green eyes hiding off in the trees.

“There you are,” she says, relief evident in her voice. “I brought you some food. Nothing fancy, just burgers. I can’t exactly afford steak on my budget.”

There’s no response of course, but the silence that greets her feels different this time, weighted with a sharp edge that wasn’t there before, and Darcy instinctively knows, deep down in her bones, that something is wrong.

She needs to leave. Right now. But before she can so much as move, a figure is stepping out of the darkness.

Fear wraps around her lungs, making it impossible to breathe, because it’s not her wolf that comes forward, but a man instead.

He’s utterly and completely naked; impressively tall and stunningly attractive with black hair that hangs to his shoulders, and intense green eyes that look far too familiar for Darcy’s liking.

“You should not have returned,” he tells her, voice low and rich as his gaze remains locked on her.

Darcy’s eyes go impossibly wide, raking over his face, his abs, and then following the indentations at his hip bones until she finds herself staring blatantly at his crotch.

When she chokes on her lungful of air, the man finally seems to finally register the cause of her distress.

“Oh.” With a slight flick of his wrist, clothes take shape on his body and Darcy’s both relieved and disappointed to see all that skin disappear. “Do you find this more agreeable, Darcy?” He asks, raising one eyebrow.

The way he says her name is like pure sex, his accent rolling the ‘r’ slightly and making her shiver.

Darcy swallows, throat gone dry. “How do you know my name? Who are you? _What_ are you?”

“I take many forms,” he answers cryptically. “You may call me Loki.”

“Loki,” she repeats slowly, and the way his eyes darken as she says his name doesn’t go unnoticed by Darcy. She scrambles to her feet, nerves leaving her legs trembling and unsteady. Hopefully he doesn’t notice how badly she’s started shaking. “I think I need to go.”

“I cannot allow you to do that,” he says, and there’s an ominous quality to his voice that has Darcy’s stomach sinking like a lead weight.

She laughs, but it comes out sounding too loud and harsh, devoid of all humor. “What makes you think that I’m going to listen to you? Last time I checked, you made it pretty damn clear that you weren’t my guard dog.”

A flicker of anger passes over Loki’s face and in that moment, with his sharp cheekbones and dark, glittering eyes, it’s alarmingly clear to her just how dangerous he truly is.

“You know far too much, Darcy.”

“I don’t know anything,” she insists. “Seriously. I’m so beyond confused right now.”

“You have _seen_ far too much,” Loki amends, and Darcy can’t say she disagrees with him there.

Her eyes drift down to the front of his pants and she blushes, trying not to think of exactly what lies beneath that black leather.

“That is not what I meant,” he says testily, noticing her straying eyes.

“So what are you going to do with me then?” The question comes out much more softly than she intends, mainly because she’s scared that she already knows what his answer will be.

“I will not hurt you,” he says, as if he can sense her panic. “Do you trust me, Darcy?”

“Fuck no.” Her answer is immediate, drawing a slow, wide smile from Loki.

“Good girl,” he says approvingly, closing the distance between them until Darcy has to crane her neck back to meet his eyes. “My promise remains, though. I shall cause you no harm.”

He tilts his head then, studying her like she’s some entirely new species. “Perhaps I shall take your memories,” he murmurs, mostly to himself from what Darcy can tell.

She wets her lips, feeling a sudden rush of hope. “Okay, so you make me forget all about you and then I can go home?”

“Is that agreeable to you?” It’s incredibly intimidating when he makes eye contact with her. His eyes hold an ancient, aged kind of weight as they rest on hers, and Darcy swallows heavily, trying to make her throat work.

“Yeah,” she croaks. “Just let me go home. Please,” she adds, like manners might be the key to getting herself out of this ridiculously fucked-up situation.

Loki gives a single, sharp nod. “Come here.”

“You come here,” Darcy counters, and it’s enormously stupid of her to argue with him, she knows, but she’s desperate for any small degree of control right now.

He mutters something unintelligible, probably a few choice curse words directed at her, as he steps forward.

“Now close your eyes,” he orders, pausing to direct an annoyed glare at her, “or have you any objections to that as well?”

“Just do the thing,” Darcy mutters, forcing her eyes to shut, because the last thing she wants to do is close them and leave herself totally defenceless and exposed to him.

The air goes quiet for a minute, and just as Darcy’s about to open her mouth, Loki speaks.

“You are too tense.”

“So?” She asks, cracking open one eye to see a frown on his face.

“I cannot perform the necessary magic if you are not receptive to it,” Loki explains. “Relax.”

Easier said than done, Darcy thinks, taking a long breath and trying to release some of the tension in her shoulders.

“Better,” comes Loki’s voice a moment later, sounding faintly warm with approval. “Now hold still.”

He doesn’t touch her, but she can sense that his hands are hovering on either side of his head (the feeling is overwhelming; warm and tingling in a way she can’t quite identify), and just as she’s about to gripe for him to get on with it already, the earth shifts beneath her feet and everything goes dark.

* * *

 

She wakes up in her own bed, feeling unusually tired considering that it’s 10 a.m. and she’s just slept like the dead. At least, she thinks she did. Darcy can’t actually recall climbing into bed or falling asleep. Come to think of it, the entirety of last night is kind of like a blur to her. She remembers leaving Jane’s house and cutting through the park, but from there the rest is all a bit fuzzy.

Throwing back her blankets, Darcy stands, swaying a little as her head begins to pound.

“Too much wine,” she mutters, shuffling to the bathroom and fishing out her bottle of Advil. She could have sworn she’d only had a single glass with Jane, but a hangover’s the only explanation she can think of for her current condition.

After popping two pills and standing under the hot spray of the shower head, some of the cobwebs in her head are gone and Darcy feels slightly more human.

By the time she’s downed a cup of coffee and headed out the door, she feels entirely normal, and doesn’t bother giving her unusual hangover any more thought.

* * *

 

She dreams that night.

Incredibly vivid dreams, so real that she can feel hands on her body, exploring, caressing, and it should be a gross violation of her personal space, but Darcy _wants_ it.

These are not unfamiliar hands; they’re comfortable and intimate, like they’ve mapped her skin a thousand times before.

They leave her wanting though, and when Darcy finally wakes, she feels feverish and unsatisfied with a lingering throbbing sensation between her thighs.

It’s nothing another hot shower can’t solve.

* * *

 

By the fourth night, it’s apparent that something’s wrong.

Well, maybe not _wrong_ , per se, but definitely unusual.

She’s grown accustomed to her dream visitor by now (she looks forward to him with an almost embarrassing amount of anticipation, really), and logically Darcy knows that slipping back into the same dream night after night is _so_ not normal, and probably isn’t even considered to be dreaming at all (she’s Googled astral projection and it sounds frighteningly similar to her nightly adventures), but she doesn’t want them to stop.

With each dream he slowly offers her more and more; now she can feel the heavy weight of his body press against hers, glimpse pale skin and a soft, warm mouth, and on one occasion when she was feeling particularly bold, she caught him off guard and threaded her fingers in his hair, pulling him down for a kiss, and the rough little noise of pleasure he’d made will be forever engrained in her brain as the sexiest thing she’s ever heard.

He’s always stayed relatively tame when it comes to their time together, which Darcy finds both endearing and frustrating, but after a week of their routine visits, a crack finally develops and whatever is left of his willpower crumbles to dust.

It’s about damn time, if you ask her.

They’re fully making out and Darcy expects the dream to end any minute now, because things are just starting to get really, mind-blowingly good and that’s always the point where he stops, but this time he doesn’t. Instead he kisses her deeply, a little more filthy and sexual than before, and she _loves_ it.

His hands, which have always stayed in somewhat respectable places, now travel over her breasts and hips without hesitation, leaving Darcy feeling dizzy with want as her spine curves, arching against him in silent encouragement.

From there, it’s a desperate rush of lust and need as their bodies finally come together, and all too soon his hips are stalling and little stars are exploding behind her eyelids as her body floods with a hot, tingling rush of pleasure.

She wakes with a gasp just as she comes, bolting upright, heart pounding, and for a fraction of a second Darcy swears that deep green eyes flash before her an instant before her own eyes fly open.

* * *

 

She’s going loony. Totally off her rocker. Certifiably crazy.

That’s the only explanation she has for how utterly bizarre her life has become.

She’s sitting cross-legged on her bed, laptop balanced on her knees and fingers poised over the keys as she tries to muster the courage to type in her search words.

She’s got to do something. She can’t take this anymore.

With a deep breath she begins slowly tapping keys, feeling the hot burn of tears starting to form behind her eyes.

_P..s..y..c..h..i..a..t..r..i..s –_

“You’re not mentally ill.”

With a squeak of surprise, Darcy’s head shoots up, eyes widening as she takes in the man standing before her.

“What...how...” She doesn’t even know where to begin asking questions, and her palms start to sweat when the stranger steps closer, looking down at her unblinkingly.

“This is highly unusual.” He frowns, brow creasing like she’s a puzzle he can’t quite solve. “You should not be retaining any memories of our meeting, and yet you are.”

When she meets his eyes, it’s like a bolt of understanding hits her, electricity fizzling down her spine as his name automatically falls from her lips. “Loki.”

“Ah, so you do remember.” He smiles, but it’s full of a troubled ruefulness that leaves Darcy feeling uneasy.

“It didn’t work.” She can recall everything now. The wolf. The man. The promise of stolen memories and a return to normalcy. “Why didn’t it work? You said it would work,” she accuses, growing angrier by the second because really? This was all him? He’s been fucking with her head for _weeks_ now and she feels like she’s coming totally unhinged.

“It does work,” he snaps, matching her agitated tone. “Evidently, _you_ are the problem.”

And that, Darcy thinks, is the last fucking straw.

“ _Me_? This is your fault,” she retorts, snapping the lid of her laptop shut and shoving it aside so she can scramble off the bed to face him properly. He has the clear height advantage, but she makes up for it with guts and indignation as she raises her voice. “I never asked for your help-”

“You were about to be attacked-”

“I had my taser-”

“Gods, you are insufferably naive-”

“You’re insufferable period-”

They’re practically shouting at each other now, toe to toe as she glares up and he scowls down, and it’s taking all of Darcy’s energy not to slug him right in his stupid, pretty face.

She forces herself to pause, collecting a deep breath before she continues more calmly, “You can’t just drop into people’s lives and fuck with their heads for a laugh.”

Loki looks at her sharply. “I take no joy in this, I assure you.”

That’s not what she expects to hear and Darcy pauses, feeling a bit thrown by his admission. “So that wasn’t part of your plan?”

He barks out a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Any plans I may have intended to lay during my time here were wholly derailed the moment I laid eyes on you, Darcy.”

Something in the tone of his voice makes her blush and knowing that he didn’t mean for any of this to happen, that he’s quite possibly just as confused and shaken as she is, brings Darcy’s anger down from a boil to a mild simmer.

The fight drains out of her then, leaving her suddenly exhausted as she sinks down on the edge of the bed, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees as she pushes her glasses up and takes a moment to rub her eyes, feeling a headache forming behind them.

“This is a lot to absorb,” she says, looking up at him.

“Understandably.” Loki hesitates before he fills the empty spot beside her. “Ask me anything you wish, though I cannot guarantee that I will answer all of your queries.”

“You can’t answer them, or you won’t answer them?”

At that Loki grins; the act looking sharp and roguish on his face. “I will answer to the extent that I believe the most basic of truths are required.”

Darcy rolls her eyes at his evasive response. “Great. So what went wrong? When you tried to take my memories, why didn’t it work?”

“That I do not know,” Loki says, and from the look of frustration that crosses his face it’s clear that that isn’t a lie; he hates not holding all the answers. “You have no magic in you, nor your parents, nor their parents before them, correct?”

“Yep, I’m a total muggle,” Darcy confirms. “I’m telling you, it’s not my fault your stupid spell didn’t do its job.”

Loki’s jaw clenches like he wants to argue again, but instead he chooses to ignore the dig. “What else do you wish to know?”

“The dreams,” Darcy responds immediately, feeling heat rush to her cheeks when Loki stares at her, his face carefully neutral and unreadable. “You didn’t mean for those to happen either, did you?”

“I did not.” His voice is unusually soft as he watches her.

Darcy breathes out a shaky breath. “And were they...um...real?”

“How real is any dream?” He counters, not being the slightest bit helpful.

She ponders that question for a minute before speaking again. “But they felt...I mean, I could _touch_ you...oh my god, this is awkward.” She groans, covering her face with her hands.

Loki says nothing and eventually the blanket of tense silence that’s fallen over them becomes too heavy for Darcy to bear.

“You gave me a dream orgasm,” she accuses at last, peeking out from behind her fingers. “Real or fake?”

He clears his throat, looking equally as uncomfortable as her now. Good.

“You can answer that yourself, Darcy.”

“What?” She lets her hands drop back to her lap, embarrassment forgotten as she stares at him with open curiosity. “How?”

It’s like he shifts then, discomfort melting back into that cocky, know-it-all attitude that’s simultaneously sexy and infuriating.

“In the aftermath,” he says, voice dropping to a velvety purr as he leans closer. “Did you wake to find my taste upon your lips? My seed between your thighs?”

Darcy’s heart gives a wild thump in her chest and the room suddenly feels like it’s about a hundred degrees hotter as memories of that night come rushing back to her.

She wets her dry lips and when she opens her mouth, her voice comes out on a small squeak. “No.”

“Well then, there is your answer.”

She’s not sure whether she’s relieved or disappointed by that, and Darcy doesn’t realize that she’s visibly frowning until Loki chuckles beside her.

“Don’t look so glum, darling.” A slow, wide grin pulls at his lips, and in that moment, he looks every bit the wolf she first knew him as. “We are more than capable of turning that moment of fiction into a reality.”

“I...” Darcy trails off, intending to say that she doesn’t want him that way, but her mouth can’t seem to form the lie. In truth, all she wants right now is for him to push her down on the bed and fuck her six ways from Sunday. If dream sex was that good, she can’t even imagine what actual sex with him is like.

“Have you anything else to ask of me, Darcy?” He completely bypasses his last statement, and Darcy is grateful that he doesn’t seem to expect an actual answer to his offer.

“No, just...what do we do now? I mean, the memory thing obviously didn’t work and I’m really hoping that murder isn’t in your repertoire.” She tries to smile but it feels unnaturally stiff, more like a grimace.

Loki rakes a hand through his hair and Darcy tries to ignore how painfully good he looks when a stray lock falls onto his forehead.

“I vowed that no harm would come to you and I intend to keep that promise,” he says, though he doesn’t look very happy about it at the moment. “I suppose I will simply have to trust that you will speak of me to no one.”

Darcy can see that it’s a struggle for him to get those words out; to place his trust in anyone other than himself.

“I won’t tell anyone,” she promises, “I’m amazing at keeping secrets. Trustworthy is my middle name.”

“Anne,” Loki says without so much as batting an eye.

“Okay, seriously. _How_ do you know this stuff?” Darcy leans away, side-eyeing him warily.

He exhales loudly. “For the same reason that my spell did not rid you of your memories; the same reason that we have been sharing in each others’ dreams. As it seems, we are inexplicably linked.”

That knowledge sits cold and heavy in Darcy’s stomach. “But why?”

Loki makes a noise that might be a laugh, or maybe he’s just getting frustrated with her again. “If I knew that, don’t you think I would have broken the link by now?”

“I dunno.” Darcy offers him a small, crooked smile. “Maybe you’re just warming up to me. I grow on people like that.”

“Like a mold spore,” Loki muses.

“Hey!” She exclaims. “Don’t forget that I’m keeping your secret. That means you have to be nice to me.”

At that, his eyes light up, slowly roaming over her again like he’s viewing her in an entirely new light. “Interesting. I didn’t take you for the type to employ blackmail,” he replies, sounding almost impressed.

“Yeah? Well there’s a lot you don’t know about me.” Darcy rises, brushing past him and heading towards the kitchen, adding a little extra swing to her hips as she walks.

Just as she’d hoped, when she looks back, Loki is openly staring at her. She grins into the refrigerator as she pulls out a bottle of water and when she spins around, he’s suddenly right behind her.

Darcy squeaks in surprise, dropping the bottle when he moves in swiftly and backs her up against the appliance, planting his palms on either side of fridge door to cage her in.

“There is much that you don’t know of me as well, Darcy,” he says, tall and imposing and standing so very close as he stares down at her with darkened eyes, and Darcy can’t help it; she whimpers, but it’s not out of fear or panic. Well, okay, maybe it’s like 20% fear, but the rest is something entirely different.

Loki immediately takes notice of her flushed cheeks and laboured breathing, and the look of shock on his face is nearly enough to make her laugh.

“I am trying to intimidate you,” he grumbles, looking thoroughly annoyed as his mouth narrows into a hard line.

“Sorry,” she says, not really meaning it because his eyes look really good up close and his voice has lowered half an octave to a deep growl that’s doing all sorts of inappropriate things to her body.

For one long moment he stares at her mouth and then he’s pushing off the fridge, turning, and stalking away.

Darcy stays plastered against the door for a moment, blinking at the empty space where he’d been standing before she finally manages to get her legs in working order and she hurries after him, catching his arm by the time he’s made it into the centre of her tiny living room.

“Woah, wait. Where are you going?” Her fingers close in the fabric of his sleeve and something in her chest feels weird; a sudden anxiousness that squeezes at her heart. She doesn’t want him to leave. He _can’t_ leave. They’re still linked, and Darcy isn’t content to just leave things the way they are. She needs answers. Closure. _Relief_.

“I have no further reason to remain here,” Loki says, like it’s the most logical thing in the world.

“Like hell you’re leaving!” Darcy’s grip tightens on his arm. “If we do nothing, those dreams are just going to keep happening and I honestly feel like I’m losing my mind right now. You’re not going anywhere until you fix this.”

From the stormy expression on Loki’s face, it looks like he’s seriously reconsidering his promise not to hurt her, but then he deflates with a sigh, looking away before fixing his eyes back on hers. “Very well. Will you permit me to try something?”

“That depends on whether it’s going to be anything like your last attempt at doing magic on me, since that worked out _so_ well,” she replies, voice dripping with sarcasm.

He scowls at that, roughly pulling his arm out of her hold. “Do you want my help or not?”

Darcy breathes out a sigh, wincing apologetically. “Yeah. Sorry. I’m just frustrated.”

“Likewise,” he replies shortly, lifting a hand to press two fingertips to her temple.

Darcy wets her lips, feeling her pulse pick up speed. “What are you gonna do?”

“Hopefully,” Loki murmurs, brows pulling down as he concentrates, “I am going to give you a measure of privacy. Since our dreamsharing remains an issue, I will create a door between your subconscious and my own. You may leave it open or closed at your discretion.”

“Leave it open?” That seems a bit odd to Darcy. Odd and really, really suggestive. She flushes at the thought of his hands skimming over her, mouths fused and bodies joined in the dark.

“It may be necessary for us to communicate on occasion until I am able to find a means to sever our link,” Loki explains. “The dreams are by far our easiest method of contact.”

“That...makes sense,” Darcy mumbles, totally embarrassed that her mind had immediately jumped to the idea of more dream sex.

“You seem surprised. What did you assume to be the purpose of the door?” Loki asks, though from the smirk on his face it’s obvious that he knows exactly what she was thinking about.

“Are you ready or what?” She avoids the question, feeling her cheeks burn with heat while he grins at her. It’s an act full of white teeth and dangerous charm and everything she doesn’t want to like, but she does. She likes it a whole damn lot.

The smile gradually fades when his fingers press harder into her temple, humor giving way to sober concentration as he murmurs, “Steady now.”

Darcy stands as still as she can, eyes fluttering shut, and in barely any time at all, it’s over and Loki is withdrawing his hand. She tries not to think of how the loss of his touch leaves her feeling strangely lonely.

It’s like her body craves his heat, a magnetic attraction like a moth to a flame, and before Darcy realizes it, she’s instinctively leaning into him, chasing that warm contact.

When her chest brushes his, she thinks that she hears his breath hitch and that gives her the encouraging nudge she needs to slowly raise her eyes to meet his.

The hot stare Loki that gives her is half warning and half starving. _Don’t tempt me_ , it says, but Darcy’s always been a bit of a rebel when it comes to obeying orders, and right now she thinks that there’s nothing she’d like more than seeing just how deeply she can get under his skin.

She tilts her chin, subtly lessening the distance between her face and his, and when she’s certain that his attention is focused exclusively on her mouth, she lets her tongue peek out to swipe along her full bottom lip.

The noise Loki makes is something close to a growl. Whether it’s frustration or want she isn’t sure, but he soon makes the answer clear enough when he dips his head, pausing only when his mouth is hovering directly over hers.

He never struck her as the type to ask permission, but nonetheless he seems to be waiting. Or maybe debating how much of a mistake they’re about to make. Is this moment of weakness really worth it? Will he regret it before it’s even over? They’re both good questions, Darcy thinks, and she should probably ask herself the same thing, but before she can, Loki is kissing her.

It’s somewhat tentative at first, a mild brush of his lips against hers, but the minute that Darcy angles her head and relaxes her jaw, it’s like something sparks inside of him and then there’s pressure and heat and a dizzying amount of tongue as he kisses her like she’s pure oxygen and he’s starved for air.

She makes a soft noise of encouragement as his hand slides into her hair, holding her head exactly where he wants it in order to kiss her senseless, and Darcy is quite content to let him because it feels...God, it feels fucking indescribable.

His mouth is hot and pliant and he tastes like winter, she thinks; all crisp and minty in a way that makes her shiver.

When they break apart it’s with ragged breaths. Darcy’s eyes are the first to flutter open and a moment later she sees Loki’s do the same, and the fact that he was just _kissing her with his eyes closed_ is so unexpectedly sweet, her heart gives a sudden skip in her chest.

That small glimpse of vulnerability is gone in an instant as his eyes go impossibly black, flicking from her mouth up to hold her gaze with an unwavering intensity that makes it hard for Darcy to breathe.

They’re on the cusp of something, she can tell from the depth of his eyes and the heavy, charged feeling in the air surrounding them, but the question is: in which direction does she want to tip the scale? Should she push or pull? Turn in or away?

As if sensing her hesitation, Loki withdraws, distancing their bodies with a single, measured step backwards.

“As I said,” he clears his throat, voice still husky, “I shall return once I have a means to sever our connection. In the meantime, be well, Darcy.” He gives her a nod that’s somewhat awkward, too distant and oddly polite considering what they’ve just done, and then he’s gone.

Darcy exhales in a long, shaking breath, crossing her arms over her stomach as she looks around her now-empty apartment.

This is good, she tells herself. This is what she wants. A return to normal, boring, ordinary life.

So why does it feel so wrong?

* * *

 

She doesn’t sleep that night.

The decision of whether to leave their subconscious door open or closed is one she can’t bring herself to make. She’s afraid of how much she _wants_ to leave it open, so Darcy comes to the conclusion that her best course of action is to avoid it altogether. If she’s not asleep, then there’s no choice for her to make.

Maybe it’s a cowardly move, but she doesn’t care. Instead she brews pot after pot of coffee, plays endless games of Candy Crush to keep herself alert, and when she finds that she’s getting particularly weary and sluggish around 5 a.m., she pops in her earbuds and blasts some alternative rock.

After three continuous all-nighters she’s visibly suffering because of it, not just appearance-wise (skin even paler than usual and dark, tired smudges under her eyes that even her best tube of concealer can’t hide), but work-wise too.

On the fourth day, Jane notices the change and sends her home early, and even though Darcy wants to be annoyed – work is a distraction that she desperately needs right now – more than that she’s overwhelmingly relieved that she has a friend like Jane; someone who doesn’t ask questions, just sends her off with firm but kind instructions to sort out whatever is putting such a strain on her.

It’s all that Darcy can do to drag her tired feet through her apartment door that evening. She drops her purse and toes off her shoes, too exhausted to bother undressing any further as she collapses face-down onto her bed, and before she can even pull the blanket around her, she’s out like a light.

She isn’t sure how much time passes before she finally wakes, slowly coming to with a sleepy, content groan. Someone’s rubbing her back in warm, soothing circles, and it feels really nice.

That’s when her eyes shoot open and she flails for a moment, limbs tangled in her bedsheets (she distinctly remembers going to sleep on top of the quilt; somebody must have tucked her in) as she tries to sit up.

The hand on her back presses her down gently. “Relax,” Loki murmurs, and when Darcy turns her head to peek up at him, he’s wearing an expression that’s half fond and half exasperated. “Have you not slept at all, you foolish girl?”

His voice is low and warm, like he doesn’t want to wake her too much, and Darcy finds herself melting back into the mattress as his hand resumes its motions.

“I was scared,” she says softly, and when Loki’s palm stills on her back, body going rigid, she quickly clarifies, “not of you.” Despite her assurance he remains silent, waiting, and Darcy wets her lips, feeling her heartbeat pick up speed with what she’s about to confess. “I was afraid of how much I wanted you.”

When he still doesn’t reply, Darcy hides her face in her pillow, feeling a hot rush of embarrassment roll over her skin.

“Darcy.” When he finally says her name, it’s rough and raw. “Darcy, look at me.”

Slowly, she shifts from her stomach onto her side, pushing herself up into a sitting position, and _wow_ , he’s sitting much closer than she’d first thought. Now their knees touch and his hand has slipped from her back down to her waist and if she were to lean in just a few short inches, if she wanted to, she could kiss him (and fuck, does she ever want to).

She must look ridiculous with her wild, sleep-rumpled hair and she’s pretty sure that she has pillow lines on her cheek from how hard she’s just slept, but nonetheless Loki looks at her like she’s the single most exquisite thing he’s ever seen.

Her eyes find his mouth and it looks so inviting - pink and just a little wet from where he’s run his tongue over his lips - she can’t help remembering the last time they’d kissed, how soft and warm and satisfying that mouth had been when it was so perfectly fitted over hers.

“Why did you come here?” Her voice is barely more than a whisper as she finally raises her eyes to meet those clear, green irises. “Did you find a way to break the link already?”

“I haven’t,” Loki admits, though the way he says it makes Darcy wonder whether he’s truly still searching or he’s just too stubborn to admit that he no longer wants to try, “but I could not feel you making use of the door. I thought...” he trails off, leaving it to her to piece together the remainder of his uncompleted thought.

“You thought something had happened to me,” Darcy finishes softly. “You were worried.”

“Perhaps.” There’s a light flush colouring his neck now and he looks so painfully good, Darcy has to curl her fingers in her bedspread to resist reaching for him.

He notices – of course he notices, he’s nothing if not perceptive – and his hand slowly slides over her blanket until his fingertips are just barely brushing the back of her clenched fist.

“Are you still frightened?” He asks, eyes remaining on their hands rather than her face.

Darcy shakes her head before remembering that he’s not even looking at her, so she voices her response aloud. “No. That’s not exactly the word I would use.”

That causes him to glance up, holding her eyes with a steady gaze. “If not fear, then what name would you put to it, Darcy?”

“I don’t know,” she says honestly, because she really can’t describe the way it feels when his eyes are locked on her and his voice is so deep and velvety and dangerously appealing.

Somehow they’ve both gravitated closer until their breaths are mingling and the intimacy of the moment leaves Darcy feeling like the rest of the world has slid away, leaving just the two of them.

“Then show me,” Loki replies in a voice that’s both soft and demanding. He’s pulling in ragged, shallow breaths as he stares at her, and seeing him begin to come undone is by far the best thing that Darcy’s ever experienced.

She can’t fight it any longer so she tips her mouth up, leans forward just a little more, and covers his lips with hers.

He responds immediately, fingers tightening on her waist to draw her in closer and Darcy takes that as her invitation to shift up onto her knees until she’s straddling his lap. It’s a bit of a difficult position since he’s perched on the very edge of her bed, but then his arms automatically close around her, holding her steady, and Darcy forgets about everything else except for the feeling of his body against hers.

“I meant,” he’s panting when they finally pull apart for air, wearing a wide, cocky grin, “show me through our link. Via the dreamscape.”

Darcy feels mildly annoyed for all of three seconds but then she rolls her hips against his erection, making him groan, and having the solid length of him rubbing against her right where she needs it the most it making it really damn hard to stay angry.

“Ass,” she mutters before dropping her mouth to his again, harder and needier now, and Loki wastes no time in angling their bodies until he can press her down onto the mattress, fitting himself between the softness of her thighs.

He moves with a confident sureness that leaves her feeling like putty in his hands as he slips one warm hand under the hem of her shirt, pulling the cup of her bra down until he can palm her breast.

The action has a shock of pure arousal shooting down Darcy’s spine and she arches against him with a breathy encouragement of “Fuck, yes.”

“Like that, do you?” He murmurs, and in the next instant, both her shirt and bra are somehow gone and he’s lowering his head to close his mouth around one nipple, delivering just the right amount of deliciously hot pressure to make her gasp, hips instinctively lifting off the bed.

“Can you do that disappearing trick again?” With a soft tug, she plucks at the fabric of his shirt. He’s still way too covered up and Darcy is desperate to get her hands on him.

Loki hums in response, finally lifting his mouth from her breasts to give her a roguish grin. “Do you wish to have me bare, Darcy?”

In response, she brings her lips to his ear with a sultry whisper of, “I wish to have you all sorts of ways.”

He groans, giving in to his need as he thrusts against her lightly. “One moment,” he rasps.

Darcy bites her lip to contain the smile that’s threatening to bloom across her face. “Having trouble concentrating?”

The look he gives her is the very definition of withering. “You know nothing of the power - the _skill_ \- that I possess. My capabilities extend far beyond the mere parlour tricks that I-”

Whatever else he’d been about to say is cut off as his breath catches and a low, choked noise escapes his lips when Darcy rocks her hips up in a particularly suggestive manner.

“You were saying?” She prompts sweetly, raking her nails down his back.

“Gods, woman,” Loki gasps, eyes falling shut for a few seconds as he gets lost in the sensation of her grinding against him. When they finally re-open, his eyes are narrowed as they focus on her face. “You will pay for that.”

“Mmm hmm,” Darcy makes a vague noise of agreement, not paying any mind to the empty threat because he’s finally, _finally_ , doing away with the rest of their clothing and when he’s fully naked, holding his weight over her, she can hardly think.

God, he looks even better than she remembers from that brief glimpse in the park; all lean strength and smooth, warm skin, and she wants to trace those abdominal muscles with her tongue, they look so good.

As if reading her thoughts, Loki murmurs, “Later,” pressing the heavy weight of his arousal to her inner thigh. The promise brings a shiver of pleasure with it and Darcy makes a quiet, needy noise as she lifts her hips, desperate to relieve the hot ache that pulses low in her stomach.

When he guides himself to her entrance he hisses in pleasure, nudging the tip of his cock between her folds. “Divine,” be breathes, and there’s a soft tone of awe in his voice that makes every inch of Darcy’s skin flush hot.    

“ _Loki_.” She says his name in a plea, needing more than just that teasing brush of skin against skin.

“You will be my undoing,” he confesses on a shallow, ragged breath, easing his hips forward until he’s sinking into her, “calling my name as if it were a prayer, taking me with such intoxicating heat, so wet and needy...”

“Oh God,” Darcy moans, legs falling open wider as he works himself into her inch by inch until the entirely of his length is nestled snug inside her. She never thought she was much for dirty talk, but the things he’s whispering to her, combined with the overwhelming sensation of being filled so completely, have her on the edge of an orgasm almost immediately.

The first slight rock of his hips makes them both cry out; Loki with a low, broken groan and her with a throaty noise of approval. From there they find a sure, steady rhythm together and Loki dips his head, dropping a scattered pattern of hot kisses on the side of her throat.

Darcy arches, exposing more of her neck for him and he immediately takes advantage by alternating between quick, biting nips of teeth and wet, open-mouthed kisses.

“More...more...don’t stop,” she’s not even aware of half the things she’s babbling to him, but Loki doesn’t seem to mind it. If anything, from the way his hips are rolling against hers – eager but refined, ensuring that she’s taking just as much pleasure from this as he is – it’s clear that her lust-induced rambling is having nothing but a positive effect on him.

One of his hands finds her waist, pushing her pelvis down into the mattress as he alters his pace, slowing to short, angled thrusts that leave him working her clit with every deliberate drive of his hips.

With that extra stimulation it quickly becomes too much of everything; pleasure, pressure, heat and lust, and the rolling wave of her climax blindsides her with a sudden intensity that leaves her breathless.

“Oh God, Loki. I can’t...” She squeezes her thighs around him, desperate for some kind of an anchor because it feels like she’s a second away from falling apart.

“That’s it,” he coaxes, and his voice is dark velvet wrapping around her, urging her on. “Come for me, Darcy.”

There’s an edge of demand in his tone and his eyes, and when she meets that fierce, hungry stare, it hits her full force, leaving her gasping as she arches against him and lets go.

Her release seems to trigger his own and distantly, through the haze of pleasure and relief, she feels his hips jerk against hers as he comes on a long groan, head bent and face buried in her hair.

She expects him to leave immediately afterwards; to clean himself up, give her another one of those ridiculous curt nods, and then be on his way. So when he doesn’t, instead stretching out next to her and trailing long, skilled fingers over the slope of her stomach and across her hip bones before dipping down towards the slickness between her thighs, Darcy is wholly unprepared and snaps her legs shut with a squeak of surprise.

“Um, what are you doing?” Her voice is unnaturally high as his fingers continue to glide over her.

“You look lovely when you have been so thoroughly pleasured,” he purrs, all dark eyes and annoyingly irresistible charm. “I should very much like to have you again.”

“And you always do get what you want, don’t you?” There’s a satisfied streak of arrogance in his tone that makes Darcy think that he isn’t used to ever hearing the word ‘no’.

He smiles, slow and sharp and attractive. “In the end, yes.”

“Well then I’ve got bad news for you,” Darcy rolls over top of him, pushing his shoulders down onto the mattress and settling comfortably over his hips, “because Darcy Lewis is no push-over.”

“I’ve met my match, have I?” Loki murmurs, eyes raking over her face and breasts before dropping to stare hotly at the apex of her thighs.

“Yep,” she confirms, bending her body forward to drop her mouth to his ear. “Haven’t you ever heard that saying? Wolves and girls,” she grins as she nips at the sensitive skin on the underside of his jaw, provoking a low groan from Loki, “both have sharp teeth.”

 

 

 


	4. Late to the Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short, fluffy dose of smut for the song prompt Late to the Party by Kacey Musgraves.

**Late to the Party**

 

* * *

 

Darcy’s fingers slid over her earring, moving back and forth in a nervous gesture as she glanced out the window, mentally psyching herself up to open the door and walk the front steps into the swanky gala that was currently underway.

“No need to be anxious,” Loki spoke from the driver’s seat beside her (how he’d even managed to get a license given his tendency to go all road-ragey at everything from red lights and gridlocked traffic to ignorant drivers not using their turn signals still remained a mystery to Darcy).

“I’m not anxious,” she answered automatically, forcing her hand to pull away from the fancy piece of jewellery and return to her lap.

Loki made a small noise of amusement, turning in his seat towards her. “After all this time, still such a terrible liar,” he said, voice warm with a fondness that made Darcy grin despite herself.

“After all this time,” she mimicked in response, “still such a pain in my ass.”

Loki cracked a smile, motioning to the passenger side door. “Well then, you say that you are not anxious. By all means, prove me wrong.”

Darcy reached for the door, hesitating once her fingers had curled around the handle. “I...” she bit her lip, feeling a light, embarrassed flush creep up her neck. “I don’t know if I can do this,” she finally admitted.

Loki’s face instantly softened and he leaned towards her, palm coming up to cradle her cheek as he met her eyes. “You can,” he promised. “You are a force to be reckoned with, Darcy Lewis. Your strength has brought you this far, and with no doubt I know that it shall carry you further still.”

“Thanks,” Darcy breathed out a long breath, feeling some of the tension in her shoulders unwind. “You’re really good at that. The whole pep-talk thing,” she clarified, voice going slightly breathless when his hand began to slip from her face down the length of her neck, thumb brushing her collarbone in a way that made her pulse jump.

“Um,” she struggled to keep her tone steady when he began rubbing slow, warm circles on her skin, “what are you doing?”

“Helping you relax,” Loki murmured, shifting until he was bent half way over the centre console, mouth dangerously close to hers. “You are in dire need of a means to relieve your stress.”

“We’re gonna be so late,” Darcy protested weakly, an embarrassing groan slipping out when his hand slid around to knead at the knot of tense muscles in the base of her neck.

His eyes dropped down to her lips, unabashedly staring. “They will not miss us.”

There was a low huskiness to his voice that set Darcy’s skin on fire and she instinctively leaned into him, but because she was Darcy, another objection was already half way out of her mouth. “Not _you_ maybe, but –”

The rest of her reply was cut off when Loki suddenly closed the space between them, surging forward to silence her with a firm, sure, and decidedly bone-melting kiss.

Darcy made a noise of surprise in her throat, the sound quickly morphing into a moan when he squeezed her waist, trying to draw her in closer despite the console that separated them. She could almost feel the heat of his hand burning straight through the fabric of her dress and it was doing nothing to help that responsible voice in her head.

“Five minutes,” she breathed once they’d finally separated.

“Fifteen,” Loki countered, eyes almost black in the dark interior of the car as he stared at her with a level of hunger that made Darcy shiver.

“Ten,” Darcy relented, already fumbling with the long hem of her dress, hiking it up to her knees and pulling off her heels. “After that they might send out a search party for us.”

Loki smiled widely, taking that as a victory as he reached for her, helping Darcy scramble over the centre console. It wasn’t an easy task and he found himself breathing out a soft curse when she came dangerously close to kneeing him between the legs.

“Dear Gods woman,” he grumbled, wincing when she accidentally caught him with a sharp elbow in the gut. “You only possess four limbs and yet one would think you have eight.”

Darcy blew the hair out of her eyes as she finally got her bearings, finding a somewhat comfortable position where she was straddling his hips. “At least I took the heels off,” she pointed out with a grin.

“Small miracles,” Loki murmured under his breath, evoking a laugh from Darcy as her hands found his shoulders and she balanced herself on her knees.

“C’mon,” she breathed, brushing her mouth against his as she reached between their bodies to tug at his black leather belt, “do you want to complain about my pointy elbows or actually put these ten minutes to good use?”

“I can multi-task,” he assured her, leaning in to taste the smiling curve of her lips while his hands dragged down her back, pushing the skirt of her dress out of the way while Darcy worked on opening the front of his dress pants.

It was hurried, a little clumsy and awkward, but when she finally sunk her weight down - Loki guiding her hips and breathing a soft, pleasure-filled groan into her ear –cramped quarters and lingering anxiety and everything else disappeared, leaving Darcy’s mind blissfully blank aside from the overwhelming need to just feel him.

“Good?” Loki’s voice was a low rumble that sent shivers sweeping over her skin.

“Good. Really good,” Darcy confirmed, breath hitching as she began to move, grinding against him and slowly rocking her hips in the limited amount of space she had to work with.

Loki swore, pressing his face into her neck. “ _Darcy_.”

“Oh my god,” she panted, feeling a spike of hot pleasure move through her with every slow and subtle movement of their bodies. She chased the feeling, arching her spine and almost succeeding in bruising her ass on the steering wheel.

“Careful,” Loki murmured, tugging her closer and keeping one arm wrapped around her back to offer a bit of a buffer.

“At least I didn’t accidentally honk the horn with my butt,” Darcy replied. “That’s probably a real mood killer.”

Loki made a noise somewhere in between a rough laugh and a groan as she settled back into a steady rhythm. “You are ridiculous.”

“You know you love me,” Darcy responded, voice sweet and teasing as she wound her arms around his neck.

“I do,” he agreed, “though your complete lack of coordination and uncanny ability to attract danger are rather troubling.”     

“I think you mean charming.” Darcy tilted her head, mouthing at the warm, sensitive skin over his pulse point.   

“No. Yes. Oh _Gods_ , Darcy,” he groaned, head falling back as she rolled her hips in time with the work of her mouth, busy forming a hickey on the side of his throat.

His hands fell to her waist, wordlessly encouraging her to increase her pace until they were both panting and Loki had snaked a hand between their bodies, finding her clit and delivering just enough pressure to make her whine, needy and throaty.

“ _Oh_ , fuck Loki. I can’t...” her voice caught and she came on a quiet moan, eyes fluttering closed as she pressed her forehead to his.

“Beautiful,” Loki’s voice was hoarse as he pulled in ragged breaths, “so beautiful when you come undone for me.”

His arms locked around her and Darcy felt him release a long, shuddering exhale as he followed after her.

For a few long minutes they leaned against each other, catching their breath until Darcy finally spoke.

“That was way longer than ten minutes.”

Loki raised his eyebrows. “Am I to take that as a complaint?”

Darcy tucked her head under his chin, playing with his loosened tie. “Nope, just an observation. But if I miss the ceremony, I’m so screwed.”

“Then I suppose you should soon make your entrance,” Loki replied. “Shall I...?”

“Yes please.” Darcy grinned as he flicked his wrist, easily cleaning up any evidence of their earlier activities. Dating a magically-inclined God certainly had its perks.

When they stepped out of the car, Darcy smoothed down the front of her dress, feeling her earlier nervousness return in the form of tiny butterflies fluttering in her stomach.

She felt Loki come up beside her, sliding his hand into hers with a gentle squeeze. “Are you ready to command the room, Ms. Assistant Director?”

Darcy took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders as she looked up at the wide set of doors leading into the headquarters of the newly-reformed S.H.I.E.L.D.

“Ready.”

 


	5. Desideratum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt from iamteambucky: Darcy is blinded in an accident and Loki surprises everyone when he starts going out of his way to take care of her.

 

**Desideratum**

 

something that is wanted or needed **  
**

 

* * *

 

 

Some days, she forgets.

It’s ridiculous, really – how could she possibly forget all the tests and scans and meetings with specialists Tony had flown in from all over the globe – but she does.

She wakes up in the morning, opening her eyes and expecting to see soft, warm sunlight streaming through her curtains, or the plastic glow-in-the dark stars she’d arranged into constellations on her ceiling (a silly little gift from Jane), but instead, she sees nothing.

There’s always a moment of shock at first, a panic that freezes her heart and lungs, but then it comes back to her. The accident. Well, it was more of an alien attack, really.

They were hell-bent on destroying Stark’s tech, and knowing that Jane was holed up down in the lab with Tony and Bruce, Darcy had jumped into the fray without a second thought, tearing down the hallway in a desperate attempt to beat the creatures to the lab so she could warn the others.

In retrospect, she really should have drawn their alien attackers _away_ from the lab. That would have been the smarter move. Chemicals and mad aliens make for one terrible combination, and now Darcy bears the scars to prove it.

He’s never said it, but she knows that Tony feels an enormous sense of responsibility for the whole thing, so, like always, he’s channeling his feelings into his work; guilt pushing him to spend hours upon hours shut away in the messy, broken remains of his lab, consulting with Jarvis and calling in every favour he’s ever been owed in the hopes of finding a doctor who can help her.

Darcy appreciates all his efforts - she’d even been hopeful at first - but now four months later she’s still living in darkness and the last of that hope, just like her eyesight, has faded out into nothing.

She’s sitting on the couch one rainy afternoon (she can hear the soft patter against the windows and it’s oddly calming; a familiar noise she can latch on to, allowing her to clearly picture the dull grey sky and beads of water blurring the window panes) when she feels someone come up behind her.

“Hey,” she says, fingers stilling on the page of the book in her lap. She’s been working on her Braille, slowly getting better thanks in no small part to Clint who had bought her a small mountain of books in the weeks following the accident. (“Us invalids have to stick together,” he’d said, tapping the plastic casing of his hearing aid, and that had been the first time Darcy felt like she’d truly smiled in ages.)

“Miss Lewis,” the person behind her replies and even without that rich, accented tone, the formality of the greeting is a dead giveaway as to the identity of her visitor.

“Loki,” she returns, setting her book aside and moving her glasses from where they’re perched on the top of her head down to sit on her nose.

She still wears her familiar black frames, a habit that's ingrained in her at this point, only now the lenses are tinted slightly darker.

“Sunglasses indoors.” Darcy snorts, gesturing to her face and shifting to make room for him on the couch when she hears him step closer. “I feel like such a hipster.”

“Really?” There’s doubt in his voice as the cushion beside her dips under his weight. “You listen to the awful racket of that indifferent dairy group while knitting half of your wardrobe from hideous yarn, and yet only now you deem yourself a hipster?”

“Neutral Milk Hotel,” she automatically corrects, trying not to smile. “What brings you up here?”

He never ventures into the Avengers’ common room, usually preferring to shut himself away in the library or his private quarters when he isn’t out on official duty with Thor or the others.

“Boredom,” he answers, tone slightly gloomy and Darcy can imagine that he’s in full sulking baby mode right now.

“I feel you,” she agrees. “I’m going mental just sitting around all day. I miss having real work to do.” She tilts her head, considering. “Maybe I should call Matt. I bet he could use a spunky crime-fighting sidekick with a tragic origin story and equally bad vision.”

She can’t see his face of course, but she knows that the expression on Loki’s face is bordering on horrified right now.

“That is by far the worst idea you have ever had,” he tells her.

Darcy raises her eyebrows. “Worse than that time when you were being mean to Jane so I replaced your shampoo with craft glue?”

“Yes,” he confirms, “and besides, Doctor Foster and I no longer hold any ill will towards each other.”

“Yeah, because I fixed it with craft glue,” Darcy replies with a grin.

She hears him laugh and the noise warms her whole body, leaving her strangely hot and tingly.

“Perhaps you should,” he says suddenly. “Speak with Murdock, that is. I know this must be difficult for you. He could help-”

And just like that, her good mood comes crashing down.

“So that’s what this is about, huh?” Darcy interrupts, voice growing defensive.  “If you came here because you feel sorry for me, you can leave right now. I don’t need your pity.”

“And I am not offering it,” he immediately shoots back, and she can practically feel the agitation coming off of him in waves as he shifts on the couch, knee brushing hers as he turns to face her fully.

She sucks in a sharp breath. The contact feels like electricity. “Then what are you doing?”

He goes silent for a moment and in her mind Darcy can see his brows pulling together, mouth curving down into the adorable little frown that means he’s lost in thought. “I suppose,” he says slowly, “that I am being a friend.”

Darcy swallows hard, but when she speaks, her voice still comes out unusually hoarse. “Do friends rub friends’ wrists like that?”

The pad of his thumb stills where it’s been unconsciously moving back and forth across her inner wrist, and _God_ , she’d give anything to be able to see his eyes in that moment.

“It’s quite possible,” he replies with such stubbornness, she can’t help but smile. “Thor,” she can hear him clear his throat, tone growing lower; more serious, “he still searches for a healer-”

“He doesn’t have to,” Darcy interjects. She’s so tired of getting her hopes up only to be disappointed time and time again. Not to mention, she’s starting to feel a little guilty too. She’s getting all this help – from _Tony Freaking Stark_ and a real-life _Norse God_ – when there are so many people out there in need of way more aid than her. She might not be able to see, but she’s still healthy and surrounded by a group of friends who have supported her so unwaveringly, it almost makes her want to cry. So when she thinks about it like that, what more could she possibly ask for?   

“But he does,” Loki remarks, drawing her from her thoughts.

A thick, short laugh escapes Darcy’s lips. “Well, he’s a giant, compassionate dork,” she says with no small amount of affection for the blond Asgardian.

She can practically feel the force of Loki’s smile. “He certainly is,” he agrees as his thumb resumes its warm back and forth motion along the inside of her wrist, making her breath hitch.

He notices the uneven shift and Darcy’s whole body flushes hot when he leans in closer, heart pounding so hard she’s sure he can hear it.

“Is this still something that friends do?” She asks in what’s barely more than a whisper. She doesn’t trust herself to speak at full volume; her voice feels too wobbly.

His opposite hand comes up to cup her cheek and Darcy stops breathing altogether.

“I think,” there’s a low, husky quality to his tone that makes her shiver, “it is far time that we redefined the parameters of our friendship.”

“Yeah,” she breathes, instinctively leaning towards him as the hand on her wrist slides higher, “we should totally have a discussion,” his fingers trail up to her elbow, leaving a trail of burning heat in their wake, “set some ground rules,” they’re at her upper arm now, tracing invisible patterns on her skin, “maybe make some pie charts,” and then his hand is crossing her shoulder to trace the delicate line of her collarbone and Darcy nearly moans outright.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” he murmurs, so close she can feel the warmth pouring from his body, smell the clean, spicy scent of his skin, hear the way his own breathing has slowed and deepened.

“About fucking time,” she replies, and in the next instant, he’s tipping her face up and his mouth lands on hers.

Darcy’s eyes automatically flutter shut as she wraps her arms around his neck, arching into him, and from the way Loki groans into their kiss, it’s clear he likes that a lot.

 His mouth is soft but demanding, hungry and so wholly consuming, all she can do is part her lips and try not to physically melt in his lap when he angles his head to deepen the kiss.

It’s like all her other senses have suddenly flared to life and she’s incredibly aware of the soft rustle of his shirt when he pulls her tighter against him, the lean, powerful muscles in his back that shift and flex under her hands, and the taste of him that will be burned onto her tongue forever after this.

“Wow,” she gasps when they finally break apart, foreheads touching as they breathe in sync, pulling in ragged lungfuls of air. “I changed my mind, I’m going to be Peter’s sidekick instead. I feel like I’ve developed about eight extra senses now. One of them is probably spidery.”

Loki makes a noise somewhere in between a laugh and a groan as he drags one palm over her ribs, earning him a throaty sound from Darcy.

“Perhaps you could set aside your lust for danger for a bit longer,” he murmurs and his lips are suddenly against her throat now, warm and wanting.

“But crime waits for no one,” she says and damn, Steve would be so proud of her right now.

Loki sighs, but it’s more amused than annoyed. “Tomorrow,” he speaks into the curve of her neck, “you will join me in the training room at nine o’clock sharp.”

Darcy goes still with surprise. “Really?”

His head shifts in what must be a nod against her shoulder. “If you insist on donning some ridiculous costume in order to save the city,” he says dryly, “then at the very least, I shall teach you how to do it effectively.”

Her answering grin is wide and brilliant as she tugs his face back up to hers, pressing a long, grateful kiss to his lips.

“This is gonna be so awesome. You won’t regret this,” she promises, finding his hand and threading her fingers through his.

Loki huffs out a small chuckle, squeezing back lightly. “I already do.”

 


	6. Wolves and Girls II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In a perfect world where I'm disgustingly rich and spend my days lounging around in elegant, breezy dresses, doing nothing but reading and writing (and sunrise yoga on the patio, because I feel like I would be borderline pretentious like that), I would have the time to properly pace this out into an epic 40 chapter saga. Sadly that is not the case, but I still wanted to give this idea a shot. I hope you like it!
> 
> Heavily inspired by [Wolves Without Teeth ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VAI5GSyXMjA) by Of Monsters and Men.

 

  **Wolves and Girls II  
**

 

* * *

 

 

Darcy runs.

Her sneakers pound hard against the stone floor, keeping perfect tempo with the rapid beating of her pulse as it thumps loud and erratic in her ears.

She isn’t sure where she is; her vision feels like it’s darkening around the edges, pupils narrowing down into tunnel vision, and all she can make out is the long stretch of distance in front of her. All she knows is that she needs to _keep moving_.

Her breathing is labored and Darcy feels a trickle of sweat slide down the centre of her back as she continues to sprint down the shadow-filled corridor; the hair on the back of her neck prickling when she hears a low, rumbling growl behind her.

It’s getting closer.

She knows that she shouldn’t look back but fear has her instinctively glancing over one shoulder, trying to judge the length of space remaining between herself and the creature that’s intent on catching her. There isn’t enough, not _nearly_ enough, and she shrieks when she feels giant jaws snapping inches from the back of her head, close enough to ruffle her hair.

Ignoring the burn of exertion in her legs, Darcy pushes herself to run faster, but it’s like she’s on a treadmill, remaining frustratingly stationary no matter how much she tries to increase her pace.

 The creature doesn’t seem to have the same problem though. That _thing_ –she can’t think of how else to describe it other than to say it’s some nightmarish, exaggerated version of a snake, big and ugly and almost prehistoric looking – keeps gaining ground on her, drawing closer and closer until she’s certain that it’s going to strike at any minute and swallow her whole.

She’s so caught up in staring backwards at the sharp, cruel curve of those deadly fangs, she doesn’t notice when the ground shifts beneath her feet and her toe catches on an uneven slab of stone, pitching her forward.

Darcy lands hard, palms and kneecaps scraped and stinging as she scrambles to get back onto her feet. _Get up get up get up,_ her mind is screaming at her, but she can’t move. She’s frozen in place - lungs seizing with fear, heart throbbing painfully - and the snake dips its head, jaw unhinging to reveal a wide, gaping blackness and -

She wakes up gasping.

Disoriented, Darcy struggles for a few frantic, panic-filled moments; legs trapped in her tangled sheets until she finally registers the familiar hum of traffic outside her window, sees the soft glow of numbers on her alarm clock, and she realizes that she’s no longer in that frightening, dark corridor. She’s back in her apartment. She’s _safe_.

Her hands slowly loosen from where she’s been unconsciously clenching handfuls of blankets and she blows out a long and tired sigh, letting her head loll to the left to study the cold, empty side of the bed next to her. Loki’s side, that he used to fill regularly at first, but that was before he became so consumed with figuring out the cause of their bond. Now he spends half the night scouring ancient texts and disappearing to God only knows where before he’ll finally crawl in next to her just as the sun is starting to rise. Or - and lately it feels more often than not – she’ll wake to find that he’s never even been there at all.

Not having any answers is slowly driving him mad and Darcy thinks that she isn’t all that far behind him, especially when her nightmares have been growing so much more vivid and frequent as of late.

Kicking her legs free from her blankets, she rolls out of bed and pads into the kitchen to make tea, letting the routine movement of filling the kettle and rooting through the cupboard help to calm the slight tremor in her hands.

 Just as she’s finished pouring steaming water into her mug, a pair of hands land on her waist.

“Holy shit!” She drops a tea bag out of pure surprise and it lands in her mug with a muffled little _plop_. “Don’t do that,” she scolds, spinning around to slap Loki lightly on the chest.

“Have I startled you?” His face is the picture of innocence...that is, if you don’t count the way the corner of his mouth has quirked up, she thinks.

“No, I was totally expecting you to appear out of nowhere and feel me up like some handsy ghost,” Darcy retorts with a large helping of sarcasm before she lets herself be pulled into his arms, hands curling in the fabric of his shirt as she breathes in his scent, warm and familiar and instantly calming her better than any cup of camomile ever could.

The amused look slowly slides off of Loki’s face once he notices how tense her body is against his. “What troubles you?” His hand starts to rub her back, working away the stiff tension until Darcy is melting against him with a tired sigh.

“Bad dream,” she murmurs with her nose pressed into the curve of his neck. After soaking up his heat for a few seconds more, she reluctantly pulls back to meet his eyes. “Did you have the same one? I didn’t see you there.” Over the past few months their shared dreamscape has come to feel so familiar to her, she actually finds it odd when Loki _doesn’t_ invade her dreams now.

Loki shakes his head. “I have not slept in some time,” he confesses, and that’s when Darcy notices the slight droop of his shoulders and weary, worn look in his eyes.

“You’re still looking for an explanation.” She extracts herself from his arms in order to reach for a second mug out of the cupboard, dropping another tea bag inside and covering it with hot water before letting it steep on the counter alongside her own.

Rubbing a hand over his face, Loki nods. “While I cannot say that I wish to sever our link any longer,” his hands gravitate back to her hips as he cracks a small, boyish smile, “it worries me that I am unable to place the source of the connection. You and I...what exists between us is unprecedented. Extraordinary.”

“You’ve got that right,” Darcy adds a ridiculous wink to that statement, managing to evoke another smile from him; one that’s slightly more at ease now. “Come on.” She nods her head towards the other room, turning to grab the two mugs on the counter. “You’re going to drink this and then come sleep with me.”

Loki’s eyebrows shoot up, clearly intrigued. “Is that so?”

“ _Sleep_ sleep,” Darcy clarifies. “You know I’m always down for the other kind, but right now you look like you’re dead on your feet.”

 “I feel as though I am,” he admits, following her out of the kitchen and into her modest little living room.

They sit pressed close together in the corner of her couch; Darcy’s legs pulled up under her as she leans into Loki’s side, and the hand that isn’t holding his mug is idly playing with the long ends of her hair, arm draped around her with a natural ease that should probably worry her, but analyzing why and how they’ve come to feel so comfortable with each other in such a small amount of time is pretty low on her list of priorities right now.  It probably all comes back to the link anyway, Darcy figures.

“Did you find anything useful?” She blows a little at the steam rising from her mug before daring to take a sip. It’s not hot enough to burn, but just on the pleasant side of scalding; enough that she can feel the liquid traveling down her throat and warming the centre of her chest.

“Nothing of particular relevance, merely legends and hearsay,” Loki frowns down into his own mug, “and even then, any talk I have heard of bonds speaks only of twin flames. The myth of two split halves reuniting.”

“Like soulmates, huh?” Darcy takes another sip of her tea, nodding in understanding. “But if that was true for us, wouldn’t all these weird side-effects like our dreamsharing have stopped as soon as we’d finally reconnected with each other?”

“Clever girl.” Loki smiles and there’s a hint of pride in his voice as he takes a long drink from his mug. “My thoughts precisely. Given that, I believe we are able to discount the notion of twin flames.”

The warmth in his tone sounds way too good to her ears and Darcy bites her lip to hold back a smile, trying not to show just how much his praise has affected her. “Okay, so what does that leave us with?”

 “Well,” he shifts, looking vaguely uncomfortable, “there is, however slight, a possibility that we may be bonded via a familial link.”

“A what-now?” Darcy blinks uncomprehendingly, frowning at him over the rim of her mug.

The expression on his face turns pained, like he would rather be discussing any other topic, and maybe it’s just an effect of the steam rising from his tea, but it looks like he’s honest-to-God blushing right now.

“A shared bloodline,” he clarifies.

Darcy stares at him.

“I think it highly unlikely,” he adds quickly, “but I will require a small amount of your blood in order to be certain.”

“We could be _related?_ ” She’s still looking at him with huge, round eyes. “But we _slept_ together. _Multiple times_.”

“Indeed we have.” He pulls the half-finished cup of tea from her numb fingers, doing something with his hands that makes both their mugs disappear, and Darcy knows she’ll find them later, clean and tucked away in their usual kitchen cupboard. He really is the handiest dishwasher ever. “I take it you now wish for me to perform the necessary spell?” He asks, eyebrows raising in question.

“Um, _yes_ ,” Darcy replies emphatically, thrusting her arm out with so much force she almost hits him in the face.

Loki gently pulls her wrist away from his nose, guiding her hand down to rest palm-up on the top of his thigh. With his other hand he produces a small decorative knife out of thin air, positioning the thin, sharp blade over her skin.

“This will hurt,” he warns, glancing up at her.

“Not as much as it will if I find out that the incredibly hot dude I’ve been having mind-blowing sex with is actually my distant cousin.” She makes a face, nose crinkling up with disgust.

That makes him pause, lips pulling up into a wide, satisfied smirk.

“Yes, I called you hot,” she interrupts before he can reply, “and yes, the sex is _that_ good. Now can we please get this over with so I can stop feeling so gross and pervy about it?”

“Certainly.” He clears his throat, attention returning to the knife that’s still poised over her palm.

He’s quick and precise about it; she hardly feels the blade until blood starts to ooze from the shallow cut and then Darcy pulls in a sharp, short breath as the pain starts to set in.

“There we are,” he murmurs to her, bringing one of his own palms up to hover directly over hers. “Merely a moment more and then I shall heal you.”

She gives a nod in reply, but his attention is elsewhere, focused down on their hands as his brows pull together, intent concentration clear on his face.

While he works, Darcy takes the opportunity to study him openly; the dark fan of his eyelashes as he gazes down, the perfectly straight line of his nose, the way his lips are parted slightly as he breathes, slow and steady and _God_ , she wants to kiss him so badly.

There and then, she decides that if they really are related, she’s going to devise a way to go back in time and punch their mutual ancestor in the balls.  

“All done,” Loki says a moment later, running his index finger down the length of her palm and Darcy watches in fascination as her injured skin immediately knits back together under his touch.

“So?” Her throat feels tight as she forces the words out. “What’s the verdict?”

He draws his hand away, reclining back against the couch. “You, Darcy Lewis, hold not a single speck of magic within your bloodline,” he announces. “We share no ancestry.”

“Oh, thank God.” She practically collapses against him, feeling his chest vibrate as he chuckles while curling an arm around her in return. “I guess that puts us back at square one, though.”

“At the moment, it would appear so,” Loki replies, looking none too pleased. “Have you any theories of your own?”

Darcy lets out a tired, single-note laugh, shaking her head. “Try asking me again when I don’t have one a.m. fuzzy brain. Right now I don’t think I could even tell you what day of the week it is, let alone explain the reason for our link.”

Loki hums in response, letting his arm drop as he pulls away, returning to his feet. “In that case, I believe it’s time that I see you off to bed.”

“You are staying, right?” She can’t resist asking as she swings her feet off the couch, standing and stifling the yawn that’s trying to work its way out of her mouth.

Loki steps closer so he can run his fingers through her tousled hair. There’s a softness in his eyes that’s incredibly rare and Darcy has to remind herself to breathe when his gaze lands on hers. “If you will have me,” he says, voice low and rough with something that isn’t just fatigue.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Darcy murmurs, tilting her chin so his hand can glide down to trace along the line of her jaw. Like there’s any chance she could possibly deny him. Her blood is practically humming from that simple touch alone. “By the way,” she adds, pulse quickening when his thumb comes agonizingly close to dragging over her bottom lip, “you still haven’t kissed me hello.”

“Have I not?” Loki’s eyes are focused exclusively on her mouth as he angles his body closer. “How rude of me,” his hand slips around to the base of her neck, gently guiding her head back and holding her in place with just enough force to pull a soft moan from her throat. “I shall remedy that immediately.”

“Please do,” Darcy breathes and then she lets her eyes flutter shut and his lips are landing on hers; firm and hot and totally consuming.

It’s slow but deep and thorough and he kisses her like he wants to know every inch of her; tongue exploring her mouth when she parts her lips for him and swallowing her small, breathy gasps as his other hand reflexively squeezes at her waist, palm warm on her skin where he’s slipped it under the edge of her tank top.

Her head is swimming when they finally break apart, breathing heavily but still eyeing each other with hunger, and Darcy thinks that in this instance, passing out from lack of oxygen just might be worth it if it means that she can keep kissing him like that.

“Was that an acceptable greeting?” Loki asks, voice ragged and attention still fixed on her mouth in a way that makes her wonder if he’s contemplating the same thing.

She clears her throat, trying to regain her voice as she schools her features into an indifferent look. “I guess it’ll do,” she replies airily before slipping past him and returning to her bedroom, pausing just outside of the doorway to look back over her shoulder.

To her delight, Loki’s eyes are narrowed and smoldering, causing a pleasant little shiver of anticipation to slide down Darcy’s spine.

She loves getting under his skin, seeing how far she can push him until that dangerous, predatory side of him comes forward. She doesn’t fear that he’ll hurt her; she’s never feared it, really. Even that first night in the park, his immediate instinct was to protect, not harm, and maybe it’s a little cruel to keep pushing his buttons, but _God_ is he ever hot when he’s angry.

“You find me wanting?” He sounds offended - a little bit ominous, even - as he takes a measured step towards her and Darcy’s stomach does a funny little flip as she leans against the doorframe, needing the support because her knees have suddenly decided to go all weak and rubbery.

She’s struck a nerve, made a dent in his ego, and from the heat in his eyes, she already knows exactly how this is going to end.

“It was a good kiss, just nothing to write home about,” she lies through her teeth; every one of his kisses makes her want to go searching for a pen to scrawl out a ten page journal entry, complete with silly hand-drawn hearts and an excessive number of exclamation marks.

The corner of his mouth curves up and Darcy knows that he isn’t buying any of that, but nonetheless he takes another slow step towards her, tongue darting out to wet his lower lip and Darcy unconsciously presses her thighs together, feeling a dull, needy ache begin to build between them.

“Your strength of will is admirable, Darcy,” his voice is practically a growl as he advances, backing her up against the doorframe before dropping his head to whisper hotly in her ear, “but I will _break_ you.”

She makes an embarrassing little noise in response, not able to form any kind of coherent reply because he’s nosing along her neck now, lips so very, very close but never actually touching, and when his mouth finally finds the soft skin of her pulse point, stopping to suck hard, Darcy’s hips move of their own accord and she can’t hold back a needy moan.

 “On the bed,” he murmurs against her throat, making her shiver, “and remove these,” his fingers brush the waistband of the boxer shorts that make up the lower half of her pyjamas. “I wish to see you bare.”

“Only if you do the same,” Darcy pants, surprised that she’s even managing to string together a full sentence right now. Logically she knows that she should try to get some more sleep, but faced with the option of that or the tall, gorgeous and very visibly turned-on God whose mouth is still attached to her neck, the choice is absurdly obvious.

“Such a demanding little thing.” Loki kisses her once more and then withdraws, hands rising to work on unfastening the top few buttons of his shirt as he complies with her request.

The sight of all that skin coming uncovered inch by inch makes her throat go dry and Darcy quickly pulls off her tank top and shorts, feeling herself flush under the intensity his gaze when his eyes go all black and heated, like he’s planning out every detailed step of exactly how he’s going to devour her.

“Flat on your stomach,” he orders, discarding his shirt and shoving his pants down his legs until he’s just as naked as she is.

He’s already hard, she can tell right away, but he ignores his erection in favour of watching her as Darcy crawls onto the bed, and she feels so desperate and impatient, hot and aching and _empty_ , it’s all she can do not to rub herself against the mattress to relieve some of that burning need.

A second later, her back is automatically arching and she sucks in a sharp, surprised breath when his fingers glide down the centre of her spine, light and teasing and it’s driving her _crazy_.

“Fuck Loki, just touch me,” she begs, trying to lift her hips and nearly whining in frustration when his palm finds her lower back, keeping her pressed down onto the mattress.

“Soon,” he promises. “Now spread your legs for me.”

And yeah, it’s true that she’s never feared him hurting her, Darcy thinks a bit dazedly, but right now she’s fairly certain that he’s going to actually kill her.

“ _Please_ ,” her voice cracks a little as she shifts on the mattress, parting her thighs as much as she can given the large, warm hand that’s still keeping her mostly immobile in a way that’s equal parts erotic and annoying.  

She can’t help the soft hum of relief that slips out of her mouth when the mattress dips behind her and one hand caresses the slope of her waist, explores the generous curve of her back end, and then slips to the inside of her thigh and finally, _finally_ he’s touching her.

Loki immediately sinks two fingers into her and she moans outright, trying to push back against him, but he’s still holding her down with his opposite hand and _oh_ , yes, this is definitely going to kill her.

“Perfect,” Loki murmurs approvingly, voice low and hoarse as his hand begins to move, fingers dragging in and out at a torturously slow pace.

Darcy’s head drops and she buries her face in her pillow, trying to stifle a groan. It’s good, _so good_ , but it’s not enough to ease that growing empty ache inside her.

“Need you,” she breathes, both relieved and disappointed when he sits back on his heels and those talented fingers disappear.

“Then you shall have me,” he murmurs in reply, bending to rest his weight over her and she can feel him now, hot and smooth and solid as he eases into her.

“Oh my God,” she whines into her pillow. He fits so snug and tight and impossibly warm, she feels like she’s about to come apart in his hands.

“ _Darcy_.” Her name sounds like worship on his lips and she can hear each one of his panting breaths as he pulls out slowly before pressing back in, burying himself in her until they’re both releasing slightly shaking moans.

As he sets a slow, deep rhythm, it’s so intense she feels like all the air is being punched out of her lungs. “ _Fuck_ ,” she gasps out, already feeling the rising swell of her orgasm, a telltale tingling in the pit of her stomach that tells her she hasn’t got much longer before it comes crashing down.

“Is this too much?” Loki curves his body over hers so he can murmur his concern into her ear, but the shift only serves to change the angle of his thrusts and now he’s in just the right spot to make her forget her own name as she sucks in a sharp, quick breath.

It’s on the verge of overwhelming, the perfect combination of pressure and heat and stimulation, and it’s all she can do to dig her fingers into the bedspread and try to hold herself together.

“No,” she manages, hardly recognizing the throaty rawness of her tone, “don’t stop – _oh god_ – don’t...” she can’t finish the rest, voice abandoning her when Loki groans out her name, hips losing rhythm as they snap forward with a strength he wouldn’t normally allow himself, but he’s unraveling now, just as quickly as she is, and even if Darcy had the words to speak in that moment, she’d be telling him _don’t hold back_.

All it takes is one more deep push and she’s tipping over the edge. For a moment it feels like she’s in freefall, weightless and breathless as the world comes to a stand-still, and then she crashes hard, gasping and pulsing around him.

She’s met with a low, rough noise of pleasure from Loki as he lets go and she can feel him panting against her shoulder blade, shaking slightly as he rides out the force of his own release.

When he withdraws, stretching out onto his side next to her, Darcy instantly misses the weight and warmth of him, but her disappointment lasts for all of two seconds before he’s propping himself up on one elbow, leaning over again to pull her into a kiss.

It’s long and lazy but thorough in a way that makes her dizzy; one hand instinctively lifting to cup the side of his face as she slides her tongue into his mouth. He still tastes faintly like tea and reluctantly Darcy pulls back, suddenly remembering how tired and wrung-out he’d looked when he first appeared in her kitchen.

“Promise me you’re going to actually sleep,” she says, searching his eyes for any sign that he still intends to leave.

Loki presses another lengthy, consuming kiss to her mouth, avoiding the question in that perfectly vague and noncommittal way of his that Darcy is starting to grow all too familiar with.

“That’s not a real answer,” she breathes once they break apart, and she wishes that she sounded sterner about it, but his hand is skimming across her hip and she can’t seem to tear her eyes away from his mouth, so yeah, maybe she’s a little distracted.

Loki gives her a faint half-smile. “But it is an answer all the same.”

“Ugh. You’re too damn cryptic for your own good,” Darcy complains with a mild roll of her eyes.

“Oh?” His eyebrows shoot up and the grin that starts to slowly stretch across his face is all cunning, sharp-toothed wolf. “I had thought that my intentions were made quite clear, but perhaps I should repeat myself.”

It’s impossible to ignore that sly, attractive grin he’s wearing and she can’t help but return it with a smile of her own. Damn him and his ability to derail her with a single look.

The hand on her hip is sliding higher now, making her shiver as fingers ghost over her ribs, trailing up and up until he’s palming the weight of her breast, eliciting a breathy sigh from Darcy. She feels like her body is sinking into the mattress, melting easily under the heat of his touch.

When he rolls his full weight over her, displaying muscled arms and dark, glittering eyes, whatever faint, thin string of willpower she has left is instantly coming apart with a very distinct _snap_.

“Repeat away,” she murmurs, fingers tangling in his hair as his head dips low, mouth singularly focused on paying respect to her chest, “I’ve never been much of a good listener.”

 

* * *

 

When she wakes the next morning, Darcy rolls over to find that the other half of the bed is, not surprisingly, empty.

She sighs, studying the vacant space and wondering how long he’ll be gone for this time.

 

* * *

 

Another month passes by. Loki keeps searching, while Darcy keeps dreaming.

Despite all the nights she’s spent reliving her race down the same darkened corridor, her dream stubbornly refuses to progress any further than that. She’s never actually been caught by the giant, frightening snake. She’s also never fully escaped it either. She’s stuck at the exact same point over and over again, like her own bizarre and highly frustrating version of Groundhog Day.

“Will you follow me?” She asks as she’s lying on her side one night, hands tucked under the pillow as she entertains herself with watching Loki; the way his chest rises and falls with each breath, how strong and skillful his hands look as he leafs page by page through an old, dog-eared crime novel he’d stolen from her shelf.

It’s one of the increasingly rare occurrences where he’s abandoned his search for answers in favour of spending a quiet evening with her, and now his eyes peek up from the book, curious and a little confused.

“Into the dreamscape,” she explains. “I don’t...I don’t want to be alone in my head tonight.”

 _I don’t want to face another nightmare_ , she wants to say, and the confession had almost left her mouth before she’d corrected herself.

If Loki notices that she’s holding something back he doesn’t comment on it, instead setting his book aside and rolling over to face her. The lamp on her bedside table casts shadows across his face, making him look sharp, dangerous, and so attractive it’s almost painful.

“We haven’t done this in quite some time,” he murmurs quietly.

“Because you’re hardly ever here,” she responds, poking him gently in the ribs to show that she’s only teasing.

He smiles but it’s brief; gone just as quickly as it first appeared. “I have not been as present - as attentive - as I should be.”

 Darcy gives a one shouldered shrug, though the effect is somewhat lost under all the blankets that are pulled up around her. “It’s fine. You don’t owe me anything. I mean, we haven’t even put a name to whatever this is between us. ”

He looks a bit surprised by her laid-back response, going silent for a moment as his eyes roam over her, studying and assessing before asking carefully, guardedly, “Do you wish to name it?”

She wets her lips, feeling her heart do a funny little flip when her gaze flicks up to meet his and she finds that his eyes have gone all black and serious. “Do you?”

“I believe that I asked you first,” he points out and it’s such a silly, juvenile reply, Darcy almost laughs, but she can hear the insecurity at the root of those words. He’s fearing rejection - afraid of laying his heart out - just as much as she is.

It makes him seem oddly vulnerable; sweet and soft and so _human_ , this once, Darcy thinks, she’ll bolster her own courage and save him from being the one to take the first leap.

“If I let myself,” she starts slowly, heart pounding hard with what she’s about to confess, “I think I could fall in love with you.”

A long, quiet minute passes.

She hears him pull in a breath, long and slightly shaking, but aside from the slight shift in his breathing Loki makes no other move but to stare at her wordlessly.

“Now would be a good time for you to say something,” she tries to joke, pushing down the rising lump in her throat. Every second that he doesn’t answer, her chest feels tighter and tighter until she thinks she might pass out from sheer mortification.

When he finally breaks the silence, his voice sounds strangled. “You would give yourself to me? Place your heart in the hands of a predator?”

Darcy resists the urge to argue with him over what constitutes a predator, knowing that it isn’t going to get them anywhere and from the closed-off look on his face, it’s clear she’d inevitably lose that debate anyway.

“I’m not afraid of you,” she says instead, steadily holding his eyes to emphasize her point.

Loki swallows, briefly looking away before his gaze return to hers. “I know,” he confirms, expression and voice both softening slightly now, “but perhaps you should be.”

“Maybe,” Darcy allows, “but I think we already established that I’m terrible at listening.” That earns her a small glimpse of a smile, though his eyes still look clouded with something close to worry.  “And besides, you’ve never given me a reason to feel scared,” she continues, “so why would I start now?”

It’s clear that he doesn’t quite know what to say to that, brow furrowing as a few long, quiet seconds tick by until he says at last, “You are most unusual, Darcy Lewis.”

“Thanks for noticing.” She offers a bright grin before snuggling further under her blankets, and as far as scary confessions of feelings go, that really hadn’t gone half bad, she thinks.

With that weight off her chest she relaxes easily now, eyes soon falling shut as fatigue starts to slowly creep into the corners of her consciousness.

A subtle shift of the mattress tells her that Loki has leaned over to pick up his book again and Darcy lets the quiet, steady noise of turning pages lull her into a pleasantly half-asleep state.

She isn’t sure how much time passes when he softly asks, “Darcy?”

“Hmm?” She hums, eyes still closed.

“I...,” he pauses, seemingly reluctant to continue, and Darcy wonders if his hesitation stems from embarrassment or if he’s simply speaking from a place he’s unfamiliar with. “I echo your sentiments,” he finally confesses, voice so quiet that if she hadn’t already been holding her breath, she probably wouldn’t have even heard him. “Please know that.”                                                       

Under the blankets, she presses her knee against his thigh, letting the contact tell him everything she can’t find the words to say.

* * *

 

All things considered, she probably should have seen this coming. Loki’s desperate search for answers, her reoccurring nightmares, even their tentative, partial confession of feelings, it’s all been leading up to something larger, and now, it’s obvious they’ve reached the tipping point.

They’ve spent plenty of time exploring the dreamscape together; taking notes and testing boundaries, trying to find any clues that would explain their unusual link, but this time, Darcy thinks, it feels different.

She wakes up in the familiar dark corridor of her nightmares, only now, nothing is chasing her. Well, at least she thinks it’s nothing. The space around her is pitch black so she can’t see a thing and that prompts a spike of fear to pass through her, setting her heart beating faster as she wets suddenly dry lips.

“Loki?” She calls out, wondering whether he’s truly there with her or if this is just another solo nightmare that will end in more tangled bedsheets and shot nerves.

A beat of eerie silence passes, and then she hears his voice.

“Here,” he says and after some blind, awkward fumbling on both their parts, his hand finally finds hers in the dark.

On instinct Darcy’s other hand reaches out, needing to touch more of him, and when her fingertips brush the smooth leather of his jacket, she makes a noise of surprise. She distinctly remembers him wearing a soft, grey t-shirt to bed and even if he’d snuck out on her again once she’d fallen asleep, it’s the middle of the night; surely he wouldn’t be wearing his full leather get-up, would he?

Deciding to test the extent of her own clothing, Darcy withdraws her hand and pokes at her thigh, relieved to find well worn denim instead of boxer shorts beneath the tips of her fingers.  

At least whatever awaits them, they won’t be facing it in their pyjamas. It’s a small victory, she supposes.

She’s afraid to talk too loud, unsure of whether they’re truly alone, so instead she lowers her voice to a hushed whisper. “Where are we?”

“I do not know.” Loki’s voice is grim and his fingers tighten around hers to the point of it almost being painful. “Now would be a wise time to wake up, Darcy.”

“On it.” She closes her eyes and squares her shoulders, focusing on creating an exact image of her bedroom within her mind; something that normally helps to draw her out of the dreamscape and back to consciousness.

She thinks of the softness of her pillow, the gentle glowing light of the moon glancing in through opened curtains, Loki’s quiet, even breathing beside her, and when she eases her eyes back open...

She’s still in the darkened cave.

“I can’t,” Darcy’s voice is slightly panicked as she searches for Loki’s face in the dark. “Loki, I can’t wake up!”

“ _Try_ ,” he urges harder and there’s definitely a sliver of fear creeping into his own voice now, doing nothing to ease the rising panic filling Darcy’s chest. “Focus, Darcy.”

“It’s not working,” she babbles, “oh God, it’s not working. I can’t, I can’t...”

“ _She shall not wake until we deem her ready.”_

An unfamiliar voice cuts through the darkness, old and reedy but still clear enough to immediately snag Darcy’s attention; her hand instinctively squeezing Loki’s as a fresh round of dread floods through her.

Gradually their black surroundings begin to give way and her eyes are finally, _gratefully_ , able to focus on something as Darcy takes in the grey, cavernous room, bare aside from the crude cylinder of stone that’s rising out of the ground in front of her.

The centre of the cylinder is hollow and deep, and when she impulsively takes a step forward, wanting to peer inside, Loki’s grip on her hand immediately tightens.

He pulls her back to his side with a sharp, wordless shake of his head.

_Don’t._

The warning brings a chill down her spine and Darcy’s stomach twists nervously as she shuffles closer to him until her shoulder presses into his upper arm. The extra contact doesn’t do much to dispel her nerves, but she finds that she can breathe a little easier now.

“Show yourselves,” Loki speaks into the emptiness. “There is no need to frighten her any further.”

From the corner of her eye Darcy sees robes fluttering in the shadows and with a soft, wheezing laugh, a woman finally steps forward.

“Come, sisters,” she speaks in a voice that’s thin yet strong as she coaxes two more figures forward out of the darkness.

Once the others have appeared, Darcy can hardly tell them all apart. Only their mouths are visible under the heavy hoods of their robes as they gather at the edge of the large stone cylinder. She wonders if they can even see her through all that black woolen fabric. It certainly feels like she’s being watched; examined like a bug under a microscope.

“The Chosen Ones,” the first sister speaks with a faint air of awe in her voice. “We meet at last.”

“We have been awaiting this moment,” the second adds.

“Centuries spent idle and now our efforts have come to fruition,” the third continues, sounding pleased.

Centuries? Chosen Ones?

Darcy’s heart kicks hard in her chest, palm now clammy against Loki’s.

“What...?” She looks up at him, hoping for answers, but Loki is staring straight ahead, jaw tight and face unusually pale.

“No,” he whispers, giving a slight shake of his head before repeating himself, louder and clearer this time, “no, not her. I will fill whatever role you require of me, but you must let her go.”

“You know that what you ask cannot be done,” the third sister tells him not unkindly.

 “Um, can someone please explain what’s going on here?”  Darcy interrupts, gaze darting back and forth between Loki’s uneasy face and the three cloaked women. She feels a bit like she’s back in grade school and the teacher has just jumped ahead three units in math, leaving her hopelessly lost and disoriented.

“Yggdrasil wilts under the shadow of Ragnarok,” the first sister says. “It is time.”

“You have been called upon,” the third speaks.

“The fates deem it so,” the second finishes.

“I’m still confused,” Darcy admits, returning her focus to Loki. His face remains drained of all colour and a muscle in his cheek jumps as he tears his eyes away from the women to finally look at her.

“Ragnarok, Darcy.” His tone low and tight, like he’s fighting to control it. “The fabled apocalypse.”

What he’s saying sounds so completely absurd, for a second Darcy almost laughs outright. “What? No way. No. It can’t...that’s not real... is it?”

Her heart sinks down into the soles of her shoes when Loki doesn’t answer, instead turning to address the three robed women again. “Please,” he tries once more, slightly desperate now, “release her and allow me to carry the burden alone.”

Darcy opens her mouth, fully prepared to ask him what the hell he’s talking about, and then it clicks.

Their unexplained link. The talk of Chosen Ones. Loki’s anxious pleas.

 “Oh my God. You want the two of us to stop the end of the world? No no no no no,” she protests, feeling sick and scared and a million other things she can’t put a name to right now. “That’s insane, we can’t do that!”

The first sister’s lips twist up into something vaguely resembling a pitying smile. “The events have been set in motion. There is no stopping this.”

“But there has to be some kind of mistake!” Darcy argues. “I have no magic or special powers or any kind of badass fighting abilities. Fuck, I’m not even a real scientist, I’m just an intern!”

“Fear not, little one,” the third sister speaks up, “you already possess all that is required to complete your task. We have seen to it, for you are one of the Chosen.”

“From the moment of your birth, you have been equipped for this,” the second adds, and Darcy thinks that the sister is just trying to make her feel better, but all this talk of destiny and predetermined courses is kind of having the opposite effect.

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” Darcy mutters, grateful when Loki grabs her elbow, softly reminding her to breathe as he steadies her.

Her stomach rolls and she bends at the waist, feeling shaky and sweaty as she leans heavily against Loki’s side, trying to breathe in and out through the bouts of nausea.

“If we are to face Ragnarok, what must we know?” Loki looks up at the sisters from where he’s rubbing Darcy’s back as she continues to dry heave.

“Jörmungandr comes for us all,” the first says. “Through our well she shall appear, and should she cause the stone to shatter, Yggdrasil will surely drown.”

“When?” He demands. “How much time have we to prepare?”

“She draws near,” the first sister answers in a tone that’s far too ominous for Darcy’s liking.

That news has a fresh wave of distress churning like rapids in the pit of her stomach and she swallows heavily, trying to focus on Loki’s exchange with the three women rather than the cold, shaky feeling that’s currently spreading throughout her body.

“There is little time now,” the third confirms, stepping away from the well. “We must take our leave.”

The others seem to gravitate towards her, gliding like fog across the cold stone floor as the three figures edge back towards the shadows.

Before she fully disappears, the second sister pauses, regarding them both. Between Darcy hovering on the verge of bringing up her dinner and Loki’s troubled, chalk-white face, they must look like a pretty sad pair of would-be apocalyptic warriors because she seems to feel the need to grant them a final, parting pep-talk of sorts.

“Bear in mind,” she says, “you have both been chosen for your cunning.”

“Your strength,” the third sister continues.

“Your intellect,” the first finishes. “You must not lose sight of that.”

“Wait!” Darcy calls after them, panic giving her the boost of adrenaline she needs to pull together and release her grip on Loki, taking an anxious step towards the sisters’ retreating forms. “You can’t just leave us here, give us a weapon at least!”

“Knowledge is your weapon now, Chosen One.” One of their voices floats from the encroaching darkness as the last of their cloaks slowly fade from sight. “Wield it wisely.”

And just like that, they’re gone.

Darcy drags a hand through her hair, feeling an icy shiver run down her spine when her eyes land on the eerie stone well. It’s empty now, but for how much longer, she wonders.

“That whole long-lost relative thing is looking pretty good right now, huh?” She says weakly, though the attempt at humor falls flat. She’s not surprised, really. It’s startlingly clear to her own ears just how dull her voice has gone.

Loki makes a noise that’s somewhere between a resigned sigh and a frustrated groan as he rubs a hand over his face, turning to look at her. “I am sorry that you have to be involved in this, Darcy.”

There’s so much sincere regret in his tone, Darcy kind of wants to hug him.

“And I’m sorry that you have to,” she replies quietly, crossing her arms over her stomach in an attempt to ward off the chill of the cavernous room. “In all your research, do you remember reading anything about Chosen Ones?”

Loki shakes his head. “I had not considered the possibility of a prophecy,” he sounds angry with himself for not exploring that avenue sooner, “but if the Norns deem it as such, then it must be so.”

It’s not the answer she was hoping for, but nonetheless Darcy perks up at that little piece of information. “But you do know about the sisters,” she says, curious to learn anything she can about the strange robed women. “The Norns or whatever?”

“The three spirits of fate that shape what will come to be,” he explains. “Quite frankly, I never expected to lay eyes on them within my lifetime. They are rarely spoken of and even more seldom seen.”

“Well then, lucky us,” Darcy mutters.

That earns her a faint snort of amusement from Loki and it’s enough to almost make her smile.

The levity of the moment is soon broken though when a shudder seems to pass through the cave and the ground begins to tremble beneath her feet; small, faint tremors like the aftershock of an earthquake.

Fine, dusty bits of rock and gravel fall from the ceiling, the larger pebbles landing with a loud series of plunks that make her think of heavy rain beating down on pavement, but that, Darcy thinks, is where the similarities end. This is no quick summer storm and there are certainly no blooming flowers or light, iridescent rainbows waiting for her on the other side.

She feels like she’s shaking just as much as the floor of the cave; nerves making it impossible for her to stand still as she looks to Loki with wide, worried eyes.

“The well,” he speaks up suddenly, alarm written all over his face, and when Darcy follows his line of sight, she can see the water gurgling; restless, almost as if it’s alive.

Her heart gives a sudden, painful thump in her chest as a long, large crack breaks through the stone.

“Are you ready?” Loki asks, taking a protective step towards her until he’s put himself directly between her and the bubbling well.

“No,” Darcy answers honestly. “Are you?”

His gaze is trained forward so she can’t tell what kind of expression he’s wearing, but the line of his shoulders is hard, back strong and rigid as his hands curl into fists at his sides.

“No,” he replies wryly, “but I suppose we haven’t a choice.”

Darcy opens her mouth to reply but she’s interrupted when the sound of the gurgling water is drowned out by a far more frightening noise; a low, unnatural moan that brings goosebumps to her skin.

She grabs a handful of Loki’s jacket, yanking him back in an attempt to put more space between them and the disturbing noises that seems to be drifting up out of the well.

“Jörmungandr,” he murmurs under his breath, and then she sees it; a form rising up, huge and ugly and terrifyingly familiar.

“Oh my God.”  Darcy’s eyes go wide and she instinctively takes another step backwards, hand still firmly fisted in the leather of Loki’s jacket. “My nightmare,” she tells him urgently, “this is it. The snake. Oh fuck, fuck, _fuck._ I should have told you, I didn’t realize –”

“Darcy.” Loki extracts himself from her death grip and turns to firmly look her in the eye, grounding her with both palms on her shoulders. “You could not have known the true purpose behind your dreams,” he tells her evenly, though the level, sure tone of his voice does little to actually calm her. “This is not your fault.”

Behind them, more and more of the serpent’s body keeps pouring out of the well, like some horrible magician’s trick, only instead of a string of coloured scarves, it’s a massive, world-ending snake.

“Listen to me,” his eyes are dark and fierce as his grip on her shoulders tightens. “I will draw the serpent away. You repair the well,” he instructs, golden magic already glowing around him as he releases her with a step back.

A shimmer of light starts at his boots and works its way up his legs, and for a moment Darcy is frozen in shock and fear. This is actually happening. How the hell are they going to survive it?

“ _Now_ Darcy,” Loki barks out the order, shaking her from her paralyzing thoughts, and Darcy’s feet automatically comply as she darts towards the wall of the cave, keeping her back pressed against the stone and hiding from sight as much as possible as she waits for the last of the serpent’s body to leave the well.

When she looks back to her left, Loki is gone and in the place of his tall, lean body there’s now a black-furred wolf with vibrant green eyes.

It’s a bit of a shock to see him shift forms like that and Darcy can’t help but stare, mesmerized by his sleek power and agile grace as he begins to circle the snake with deadly intent.

The jaws of the giant serpent snap shut near Loki’s hindquarters, far too close for comfort in Darcy’s opinion, but nevertheless he seems to have succeeded in attracting the creature’s attention. 

He dances backwards a few steps, clearly taunting as he gradually coaxes it further and further from the well. He’s unsurprisingly light on his paws because why wouldn’t he be, Darcy thinks. Everything about him exudes a certain graceful, attractive charm; an ease and confidence that’s simultaneously annoying and hot as hell. 

Once she’s determined that the snake is far enough away, Darcy pulls in a shaking breath, gathering her courage and sprinting forward before her brain can object and remind her of just how much danger she’s putting herself in.

When she reaches the well she drops down hard onto her knees, automatically slapping her hands over the largest crack. Water pours out between her fingers and she makes a strangled noise of frustration in the back of her throat.

“How do I fix it? They never told us!” She cries out loud, frantically looking around for some kind of help - leaves or brush or _something_ she can use to patch the widening split in the stone - but the ground is strangely smooth and bare beneath her legs, built like flatrock and devoid of any kind of dirt or grass.

Fucking Norns and their stupid, vague instructions.

She presses her palms harder against the side of the well, forcing down what feels like a rising panic attack, when suddenly Loki’s voice is slicing through her muddled, frantic thoughts and she remembers what feels like a lifetime ago; the memory of the pair of them sitting side by side on her bed when she’d first confronted Loki about their shared dreams and the inexplicable bond between them.

 _How real is any dream_ , he’d asked her then, and Darcy’s eyes go wide with realization, hope flooding her chest as her attention shifts back to the crumbling well.

Of course. She’s in a dream right now... at least in theory, anyway. That should give her some ounce of control over her surroundings, shouldn’t it?

Pulling in a breath, she closes her eyes and tries to reign in the jumbled, frightened mess of her mind as she works to envision exactly what she wants.

Distantly she can hear the well water sloshing against the stone wall, rising higher while more thin, spidery cracks split the rock, but Darcy forces herself to stay calm and focus.

“Come on, come on,” she urges between gritted teeth, and when she finally dares to open her eyes, relief washes through her so strong, for a second she can only blink down at the ground, oddly overwhelmed by how grateful she is to see...well, _dirt_. 

Where the ground had been nothing but dry, bare stone before, now it’s damp and muddy beneath her - sticky clay soaking into the knees of her jeans - and never in her life has Darcy been this happy to be so filthy.

She scoops up handfuls of the wet clay, pressing it to the largest of the cracks, and miracle of miracles her patchwork job is actually _working_ until something blindsides her, coming out of nowhere and smashing into her stomach with all the force of a freight train.

She lets out a soundless gasp of pain as the world tilts and she hits the ground hard, landing on one shoulder while little black spots dance in front of her eyes.

When Darcy finally manages to regain her bearings, ribs and shoulder throbbing, her blood runs cold when she realizes exactly what’s hit her. The serpent has apparently grown tired of Loki, abandoned him in favour of turning its attention on her; wide mouth gaping opening as it releases a deafening shriek that reverberates through her whole body.

Hot, rancid breath hits her in the face and Darcy tries to scrabble backwards, but as soon as she puts pressure on her right arm, her shoulder flares with white hot pain and her elbow buckles, refusing to take any of her weight.

Her heart leaps up into her throat and she swallows it down with a painful ache. Half of her is fucking terrified, but the other half...the other half is undeniably _angry_. She’s so close to fixing the well, to stopping the rising water, to _saving the freaking world_ , there’s no way it can end like this; she won’t let it. This is not how Darcy Lewis goes out.

Just as she’s squeezing her eyes shut, desperately hoping that the dreamscape will allow her to conjure up some kind of a weapon, the serpent releases another howl, only this time it’s one of obvious pain.

Eyes flying open, Darcy finds a blur of familiar black fur blocking her field of vision.

Loki is standing in front of her, snarling and baring his teeth, and Darcy feels her breath catch in her throat when she spots the ragged gash on his hind leg; a sickening amount of crimson blood matted in his fur. Her lips press together tightly, stomach rolling as she prays that most of that blood doesn’t belong to him.

Thankfully she doesn't have long to dwell on that because in the blink of an eye he’s darting forward with a vicious sort of grace, dodging the serpent’s jaws and sinking his teeth into the thinner, more vulnerable skin of its neck.

For the barest of seconds their eyes make contact and the message in his gaze is enormously clear.

_Go._

Darcy scrambles back to the well, slipping on wet clay and almost toppling over as she drops back down to her knees, frantically patching the rest of the cracks and holes.

Glancing up, she pulls her bottom lip through her teeth in an unconscious act of worry and much to her dismay, all her fears are confirmed when she sees that the water is now alarmingly high, threatening to spill over completely as it hovers at the rim of the well.

“No,” she tells it as sternly as she can manage despite the waver in her voice, not caring how dumb she might sound for attempting to boss around a liquid. “Don’t you dare fucking move.”

On hands and knees she crawls around to the opposite side of the well, smearing more clay into the cracks that have formed there, and once she’s inspected every inch of the stone cylinder for any more gaps and fissures, she sits back on her heels, panting as she tries to breathe through the crushing sense of anxiety that’s sitting heavy on her chest.

She’s caked in mud, sweaty, shaking and exhausted, but it’s all worth it when the clay seals hold and the waterline begins to recede, dropping lower and lower until the well is finally draining empty and Darcy collapses against it in pure and utter relief.

That relief is short-lived though, and an instant later, her head shoots up when she hears a horrific, gut-wrenching wail.

“Loki!” She screams for him, trying to spot the shine of sleek black fur amongst the serpent’s dark, leather-like skin, but she can’t find him anywhere. She has no idea whether that’s a good sign or a bad one.

 The serpent emits another terrible noise that’s like nails on a chalkboard and her heart slows a little when she realizes that the cries of pain aren’t coming from Loki. Thank God.

Still though, she hasn’t been able to lay eyes on him and that’s only adding to her stress, but it’s obvious that he’s doing something because the creature is swaying now; loud screeches tapering off into muted growls of angry pain. The next time it leans to one side it’s at too much of an angle to recover and the serpent falls with all the force of a massive redwood tree, hitting the ground with a crash that echoes through the air.

The giant creature shudders then goes deathly still, and just like that, things go from loud and chaotic to eerily quiet, making a cold, uneasy shiver trickle down Darcy’s spine.

“Loki?” She calls out, voice echoing clear and loud in the otherwise silent space.

When she gets no reply her lungs seize tight with worry and she pushes herself up onto weak, unstable feet. Her legs are shaking badly, a direct result of both her fading adrenaline and her slippery clay-soaked sneakers as she struggles to stay upright.

Her heart is beating so furiously for a second she thinks it’s going to jump straight out of her chest. Despite the unsettled, frantic feeling that’s coursing through her, Darcy forces herself to pause, slowly counting out ten seconds in her head until she’s sure that the serpent is actually dead, and as soon as she hits that final remaining second, she’s running forward as fast as she can.

“Loki!” She shouts his name again into the empty, cavernous space. “Where the hell are you?!”

There’s still no answer.

Her throat squeezes tight and she clears it roughly, trying to coax her voice back into working order so she can call for him again, and that’s when he finally offers a reply.

“ _Darcy_.”

Her heart stops and in that moment, his voice is the sweetest sound she’s ever heard.

To the left of the serpent, partly obscured by the curve of the creature’s enormous tail, Loki is back in his human form, looking dirty and tired with a long scratch on his cheek, but he’s whole and alive and that’s more than enough for Darcy.

With a grunt he pulls himself free from where he’s half-stuck under the weight of the tail, then he’s on his feet, surging forward to close the last of the distance between them and pulling Darcy into a crushing hug so strong it makes her already tender ribs cry out in protest.

She ignores the pain, instead throwing her arms around him and squeezing back just as tight, tears of relief gathering in her eyes.

“You were incredible,” Loki murmurs praises into her hair, voice slightly choked, “my beautiful, fierce little Valkyrie. So brave. _Darcy_ \- ” and then he’s kissing her, hard and desperate, and Darcy reciprocates just as hungrily, biting his bottom lip and then pushing her tongue into his mouth until he’s moaning against her lips.

It’s like she needs to prove to herself that he really exists and her hands seek out as much of him as they can, impatiently moving from his neck to his shoulders and then down to feel the strong, reassuring beat of his heart beneath her palms as they finally pull apart, panting.

“I thought...” she can’t finish the sentence, emotion clogging her throat as her eyes pull away to focus on the mud-caked toes of her sneakers.

“I’m fine,” he assures her, smoothing back her tangled hair before cupping her cheek, forcing her to look him straight in the eyes. “I’m here.”

Relief hits her in one giant, overwhelming wave and a single sob breaks loose before Darcy curbs the trembling of her lips by pressing them back to his.

She hears him inhale sharply and then his hands are fisting in her hair and the world around them feels like it’s evaporating, growing more and more distant the further she loses herself in him.

“Wake up now, Darcy,” he whispers between kisses, “take us home.”

And so she does.

* * *

 

She doesn’t wake with a jolt or a gasp, instead it’s slow and easy; her eyes gradually opening as she stretches her stiff spine, hearing her back pop in a few different places. She’s exhausted, feels a little like she’s been hit by a transport truck, but otherwise Darcy seems to be physically fine, and she’s happy to note that the dull ache of her ribs and searing pain in her shoulder have both vanished.

When she rolls onto her side, her breath catches because Loki is watching her with a wide and tired smile, eyes impossibly green against the white of her pillowcase.

“Hey, you.” She scoots closer, enough that she can brush her nose along his and make out every fleck of colour in his irises.

“Hello.” Loki grins, beautiful and brilliant, and a second later that grin is pressing against her mouth and Darcy parts her lips with a sigh, content to let him take control as he rolls over, trapping her under the firm, solid heat of his body.

He’s already hard against her leg and right now Darcy wants nothing more than to indulge in a little celebratory ‘hooray we saved the world and didn’t die in the process’ sex.

“Was any of that actually real?” She finds herself wondering out loud, hands skimming down his back as she works them under the hem of his shirt, eager for the heat of his skin.

“That depends,” he rolls his hips into hers, groaning lowly when her nails drag down his back, “for the truth is a matter of perception,” he finishes in a ragged, breathless voice.

“You’re no help at all,” she complains, unsure of what to do with that vague, speculative piece of information.

“Apologies,” he murmurs, sounding anything but sorry as he drops his mouth to hers and succeeds in kissing her breathless,  one hand pushing its way under the hem of her shirt to palm her breast, kneading and teasing until she’s arching against him.

“Mmm _,_ wait,” Darcy pulls his hand away, albeit a bit reluctantly, guiding it down her stomach and under the waistband of her pyjama bottoms. “Here. I need you here,” she whispers, shivering pleasantly as his fingers trail over the slick heat between her thighs.

When he finds how wet she is, Loki groans low in the back of his throat. “Look at you,” he murmurs, “never have I seen a sight more beautiful than that of yourself, flushed and writhing beneath me.” He moves to kiss her again, slow and lazy now as his hands work on tugging down her shorts.

There’s hunger and heat in his eyes, but he takes his time, stripping her bare with soft, fleeting touches that make her whine in half-pleasure and half-annoyance, and then he’s filling her slowly, releasing a shaky exhale once the entirety of him is buried deep inside her. He’s thick and heavy and so warm, Darcy feels like his touch is filling her veins with pure fire.

“ _Oh_ ,” she breathes once he finally moves; thrusts shallow and deep in a way that makes her chest ache from the slow, careful tenderness of it.

They move in unison, giving and taking in equal parts while never breaking eye contact, and this, Darcy thinks, is it. This is the moment that will ruin her for all others; that will stay branded in her body and mind as the most perfectly raw, poignant moment of her life.

She feels totally exposed beneath him and normally that would unnerve her, but she can’t find it in herself to care because the look in his eyes is so clearly echoing her own and in that moment, she knows that he’s just as vulnerable as she is.

“ _Darcy_ ,” he rasps out her name, eyes half-lidded in pleasure as he breathes through parted lips.

“I know,” she whispers, pulling him back down to her for another kiss; one that’s hot, thorough and so full of tongue it borders on obscene.

When they break apart, he slips one hand between their bodies, seeking out her clit. “You will come with me,” he orders, voice hoarse as his fingers begin to move, firm and relentless.

A sharp spark of pleasure jolts through her and she gasps, tightening her thighs higher around his waist as he rubs steady circles with two of his fingers, drawing the first trembling shocks of an orgasm from her.

“ _Fuck_ , oh fuck, Loki. I can’t...” her breathy words of warning melt into a loud, throaty cry as her body tenses, back arching and eyes fluttering shut.

“No, look at me, Darcy.” He’s panting, cheeks flushed and gaze heated as she struggles to reopen her eyes, focusing on his face.

That wrecked, desperate tone of his voice is her undoing and she clenches harder around him; a hot rush of pleasure slicing through her swift and sudden as sparks of pleasure dance across her skin.

He groans, managing two more broken, disjointed thrusts before he’s spilling into her, dropping his forehead to hers as his hips jerk forward roughly.

While he’s coming down she rubs his back, gentle and soothing as he slowly pulls himself back together, and once he’s steady enough to withdraw, they both breathe out quiet whimpers as he slips out of her, rolling onto his side and immediately pulling her in close against him.

“Oh wow,” Darcy says when her eyes land on the glowing numbers of her alarm clock, just visible over the curve of Loki’s shoulder, “we’ve been under for almost a whole twenty-four hours.” The time reads shortly after 8 p.m. and she groans tiredly, snuggling closer to him. “I feel like I could sleep another twelve.”

“Then let’s,” his lips move against her temple, voice attractively sleepy; warm and sated in a way that makes her unconsciously smile. “I am fairly certain that we have earned it at this point.”

She huffs out a soft laugh as she slips a leg between his, bodies tangling together comfortably, and when they finally drift off, for the first time in what feels like forever, Darcy sleeps soundly.

 

 

 


	7. Not a Christmas Carol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For my secret santa recipient deshanya. Wishing you a very merry christmas and happy new year!

**Not a Christmas Carol**

Darcy's Christmas Eve doesn't exactly go as planned.

* * *

 

 

"This sucks balls," Darcy announced, standing in the middle of Jane's empty lab with her hands planted on her hips.

While Thor and Jane were busy with dinner (in other words, making goo-goo eyes at each other across bowls of peas and mashed potatoes), Darcy had made a quick getaway, sneaking back into the lab to retrieve her forgotten iPod. She'd spent _two weeks_ putting together an awesome Christmas playlist and she sure as hell wasn't about to let it go unused. Plus, she really wanted to see if she could get a drunk Thor to dance to Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree. It would make for some top-notch blackmail material come the new year.

Apparently though, in her rush to get in and out (missing the tail end of dinner was fine, but there was no way she was about to skip out on dessert - there were five different kinds of pie waiting for her. _Five._ Bless the holidays) she’d forgotten to leave the heavy door propped open behind her, and, as her distinct lack of luck would have it, said door had naturally chosen that exact moment to swing shut, leaving her stuck.

Trapped.

Alone.

On December 24th.

Merry flipping Christmas to her.

To make matters even worse, her phone had barely been clinging to life at 2%, and attempting to emergency dial Jane’s number had been more than the lame little battery could handle, dying a dramatically ill-timed death before she could even get the call to connect.

So now she was, in a word, _screwed_.

With an annoyed sigh, Darcy tapped her phone against her chin, trying to think of a new plan. Calling for help was out. Climbing out a window also wouldn’t work; the only windows in the lab ran along the highest point of the wall, resting almost flush with the ceiling. Not to mention they had no actual latches on them. Apparently they were meant to only let in light and not to actually open. How perfectly, fantastically inconvenient.

“That's gotta be against some kind of fire code,” she complained to no one, shoving her dead phone back into her bag. Jane really needed to invest in a good old-fashioned landline for the lab. A ‘help I’m stuck in science nightmare land’ emergency kind of thing. Because no one should ever be subjected to the pain of finding themselves trapped overnight in an astrophysicist's lab.

God, her night couldn’t possibly get any worse.

In hindsight, she really should have known a statement like that would come back to bite her in the ass, and naturally, as soon as the thought flitted across her mind, Darcy's night magically managed to get even more crap-tastic. Thank you, Murphy's Law. (Oh God, now she was starting to talk science to herself - she _really_ needed to get out of there.)

Worse, as it turned out, came in the form of a strange rustling noise behind her, instantly causing Darcy to whirl around with a high-pitched squeak of surprise as her heart jumped into her throat.

"Who's there?" She called out, taking a single, hesitant step forward before coming to an abrupt stop, freezing in place as she frowned to herself.

What the hell was she doing? This was bad news. Rule number one of hearing creepy noises in abandoned buildings was ‘run away’, not ‘move closer’. Had every horror movie ever made taught her absolutely nothing?

"This had better not be some kind of Charles Dickens Christmas Carol bullshit," Darcy threatened, edging a teensy bit closer to the noise. "If I get visited by any ghosts, I'm kicking them right in their floaty little asses."

"Then I suppose I should consider myself lucky that I am not a specter," a voice spoke dryly from the shadowed corner of the room, and when the figure stepped closer, Darcy groaned out loud.

"Ugh, seriously? I think I'd rather take my chances with the ghosts," she complained.

"I'm flattered," Loki deadpanned, rudely brushing past her before dropping down into the empty chair at Jane's desk, casually reclining like he owned the place.

Darcy took a deep breath, counted to five, and tried not to give into the urge to strangle him. “So, care to explain why you’re creeping around in the shadows like some kind of melodramatic vampire?” She crossed her arms over her chest, looking at him expectantly. “I know Thor invited you to dinner. You don’t have to be a big sulky baby and spend Christmas alone.”

“I am well aware that I do not _have_ to,” Loki replied icily, looking even more sulky as he frowned at her, “but in making your feeble, simple-minded assumptions, did you ever consider the possibility that perhaps I _want_ to?”

Jeez. The guy was even more of a crankpot today than usual. That look could give even the Scroogiest Scrooge a run for his money.

Taking her brief silence as a win, Loki let out a long sigh, reclining his head and shutting his eyes.

Darcy stared at him. "Um, what're you doing?"

"Making myself comfortable, seeing as how we will be here until morning," Loki retorted, eyes still closed.

"You can't just magic the door open? Or make a double of yourself and send it to get help?" She asked, not caring if the plea sounded desperate or whiney. Good God, there was no way she could endure his company for the _entire night_. She’d wind up pulling her hair out. Or breaking his nose. Probably both.

Wordlessly, Loki raised one arm, showing off the thin gold cuff that encircled his wrist.

"Oh." Darcy's shoulders drooped with disappointment. "You're magically impotent now, huh?"

It was hard to tell in the dark, but she could have sworn that Loki's cheeks went a little redder.

"That is a terrible choice of words," he muttered, shifting irritably in his chair.

"I know," Darcy grinned at him, "that's why I said it."

He cracked his eyes open just enough to level a narrow, unimpressed glare in her direction, and even though he was awkwardly folded into Jane's ancient office chair that was at least two sizes too small for his frame, he still managed to make the look scream haughty arrogance. "You are without a doubt the most dreadfully irritating Midgardian I have ever had the displeasure of knowing."

"Yeah well she isn’t too fond of you either," Darcy muttered absently, crouching down and pushing his knees out of the way so she could get to the bottom drawer of Jane's desk.

When she touched him, he stiffened so imperceptibly Darcy almost thought she imagined it at first, but then the tension seemed to disappear and he relaxed back into the chair with an incredibly aggravating smirk.

"If I knew you were going to so easily kneel for me, I would have asked sooner," he purred, looking down at her through half-lidded eyes.

"Perv," Darcy huffed, brushing her hair over her shoulder as she shot him a look. "I'm hungry," she explained, sparing a mournful moment of remembrance for the five pie sugar coma that would never be, "and since Jane literally eats, sleeps, and breathes science, she'd bound to have left some food in here."

She rooted around in the drawer, trying to ignore the fact that Loki's thigh was only inches away from her face. It was a nice thigh. Too bad it was attached to such a pompous asshole.

"Aha!" She declared, producing a box of chocolate chip granola bars. A sad substitute for dessert, but at least it was something. "Hey, Your Royal Jerkface - you want one?"

"No," Loki replied, but the way his eyes lingered on the box told a different story.

"Sure you do. Look, they aren't even expired yet," Darcy said, fishing one out of the box and dangling it in front of his face enticingly. "It's a Christmas miracle."

He sighed, begrudgingly accepting the snack and tearing open the wrapper while Darcy perched on the corner of the desk beside him and began munching away on her own.

"You know," she said conversationally, lifting her legs to plant her feet in his lap, ankles crossed, "I'm surprised no one's come looking for us. I mean, we're missing Christmas Eve dinner! Jane can be pretty oblivious sometimes, but this really takes the cake."

"Must you do that?" Loki complained, pushing her feet away before adding, "I certainly don't find it surprising. Naturally Dr. Foster would relish any amount of time spent away from the likes of you-"

"Hey!" Darcy protested as – unsurprisingly - he kept talking over her.

"-and as for Thor, he has never been one to actively seek out my company. Even less so now, I imagine."

Despite the calm, unconcerned tone of his voice, something about the expression on his face looked almost sad, Darcy realized, feeling a small pang of sympathy for him. Sure he was a (literal) royal dickwad, but no one deserved to be miserable on Christmas Eve.

"Of course Thor wants you around," she assured him. "He loves you. You might have your head stuck too far up your ass to be able to see it, but trust me, it’s totally obvious to the rest of us."

Loki frowned, finishing off the last bite of his granola bar and tossing the wrapper onto the desk. “You needn’t console me, Darcy.”

“I’m not consoling,” she countered, “just stating the facts.”

Loki was silent for a full minute, long enough for Darcy to squirm a little from the heavy, awkward silence beginning to gather between them, and when he finally spoke again, his voice was surprisingly civil. "That is kind of you to say," he replied quietly.

Darcy's heart gave a funny flutter in her chest. Damn. When he dropped the God of Uppity Assholes routine, he could actually be a pretty okay dude.

Sliding off the edge of the desk, she brushed the stray granola crumbs from her sweater before turning to stand in front of him, making a little 'come here' gesture with her hands. "Okay, I think someone needs a holiday hug."

"What? _No_." Just like that, his usual rude sneer was back in place.

"Aw, come on," Darcy coaxed, stepping closer and grinning when he physically recoiled, trying to get away from her. "Consider it your Christmas present from me."

"If you wish to offer me a gift, might I suggest you cease talking and stay as far away from me as possible?" Loki grumbled, reluctantly rising from his chair only after Darcy had begun to tug on his arm insistently.

"This'll be good. Promise." She took a half step forward, bringing herself chest-to-chest with him (only it was more like face-to-chest for her - God, he was tall) and then slowly slipped her arms around his waist, turning her head and pressing her cheek against his chest.

And oh boy. What a chest that was.

He was incredibly warm and solid - a little broader and more muscular than she'd first thought - and he smelled really damn good. Like, so good she was starting to feel a little on the wobbly side. Thank God she was already leaning her weight against him or her knees probably would have given out on her.

She could hear his heart thudding steadily beneath her ear, and when Loki slowly raised his arms, tentatively wrapping them around her in return, it seemed to beat just a bit faster, making her own pulse spike as a result.

"See?" Darcy wet her lips, trying to keep her voice steady. "This is nice, right?"

"This is entirely awful," Loki complained, but there was a distinct lack of malice in his voice, and if she had to put a name to it, Darcy probably would have said that he sounded... _husky._

‘Awful’ her ass. For a God of Lies, she sure thought he'd be a little more convincing. 

In their current position, she could feel his lips hovering near her hairline, breath slightly ruffling the strands with each exhale, and she had to press her lips together tightly to prevent a small, embarrassing noise from escaping.

After a few more moments she decided that it was probably time to pull away before things started to veer into weirdly clingy territory, but before Darcy could even begin to draw back, all of a sudden Loki just sort of deflated against her, bending his head and curving his body around hers while he pressed his nose into the top of her shoulder.

Well. That was new. And, strangely enough, not all that unwelcomed, Darcy found.

Voice stuck in her throat (a straight-up oddity for her, but given the fact that she had a literal Norse God wrapped around her like a potentially lethal Snuggie, it felt pretty justified), Darcy silently tightened her arms around Loki, shivering when she felt him release a long, extended breath against her shoulder. His lips were so close, she couldn't help thinking that if he were to turn his head just a little more, they would be brushing the curve of her neck.

She felt frozen in place, not wanting to move a muscle for fear of ruining the moment. How long had it been since he'd been properly hugged, anyway? Shown a little TLC and affection? If the way he was clinging to her was any indication, it had been a hell of a long time.

The thought of that made her chest ache with a kind of sad sympathy more potent than she cared to admit.

After what felt like both a minute and a century, Loki leaned back, though to Darcy's surprise he didn't shove her away. Instead he moved slowly and cautiously, turning his head just enough for the tips of their noses to almost touch before pausing there, gaze roaming over her face.

Heart squeezing tight, Darcy unconsciously parted her lips, feeling like she couldn't quite pull in a full breath with him watching her like that.

Holy hell, did that look ever suit him; all glittering dark eyes and pale skin, touch practically burning through her clothes where his hands rested respectfully on her waist, not moving so much as an inch in either direction, and the next time his eyes ran their circuit of mouth-to-eyes-to-mouth-again, Darcy caught his gaze, both of them automatically stilling.

Something distinctly shifted in that moment; a spark in the air as the universe tripped and realigned around them. It felt, Darcy thought, like an unseen force had reached into her chest, grabbed a handful of her guts and dragged the two of them together.

Hormones, she suspected. Definitely hormones. She was certainly feeling it, and from the way Loki's pupils were growing bigger by the second, she could tell that he felt it too. 

Two beats passed and just as Darcy thought she might pass out from unconsciously holding her breath for so long, the tension broke, not with a crackling snap but quietly giving way to a softer, curious kind of bend.

She couldn’t tell who moved first but all of a sudden they were closing that little bit of space, meeting for a kiss that was surprisingly sweet; slow and exploratory in a way that was quick to steal away all the breath Darcy’d just gotten back.

One of Loki’s hands rose to tangle in her hair while the other tightened on her waist, drawing her closer, and Darcy moved willingly, grabbing handfuls of the back of his shirt as they both let it deepen, gaining an edge of frantic heat until they were kissing like it was a competition; who could be quicker, harder, needier.

"Not here." Loki's voice was rough as he finally tore his mouth away from hers, breathing unevenly and swiping his tongue over his lower lip in a way that was way too attractive for Darcy’s already-strained ovaries to handle. "When I have you, I will do so properly. Not rushed atop your employer's desk."

High-key turned on and blood still pumping in overdrive, Darcy didn’t bother trying to hide her disappointment. What the frack? The one decent thing to come out of her god-awful evening and Loki wanted to _stop_? "But-"

"Do you trust me?" He interrupted, watching her carefully.

Darcy snorted. "Fuck no."

That drew a faintly pleased smirk from Loki. "Good girl,” he replied, and the velvety tone just about melted Darcy into a puddle of sexually-charged goo on the floor, “but just this once I ask that you believe me when I say that your patience will not go unrewarded."

"It better not," she grumbled, trying to maintain her cranky tone but finding it nearly impossible because Loki's hands were beginning to rub circles on her back, like some kind of magical instant stress-reliever. If he didn't have that shackle thing on his wrist, she'd almost think that it _was_ magic. "I will take this opportunity to remind you that it _is_ Christmas though,” she added, “and I _did_ give you that totally awesome hug..."

"You seek a gift in return?" Loki's hands paused as he grinned down at her.

"It's only fair," Darcy insisted.

Loki chuckled. “Very well then, what do you wish for, Darcy?”

She tilted her head, considering. “Ideally, I'd like to get out of this lab, stuff my face with enough pie to take down a small child, and then drag you into my bedroom to do things that will definitely get me put on the naughty list this year.”

Loki’s lips curved into a wicked grin. “A rather tempting thought,” he said. “And realistically?”

Darcy sighed, dropping her head to press her forehead against his chest. “Realistically, I want a strong drink and another kiss," she mumbled pathetically into his shirt.

His fingers slid under her chin, gently tipping her face up towards his. “That, I am more than capable of doing,” Loki murmured, closing the remaining space between them as his mouth covered hers.

It was soft and chaste this time, and all too soon Loki was withdrawing when Darcy tried to arch against him in an attempt to escalate things from PG towards R territory.

She groaned at the loss of contact as he stepped away, crossing her arms so she wouldn't be tempted to tug him back against her.

"As for the drink," Loki continued, watching her with an expression that was mischief personified, "I happen to know that Thor keeps a spare flask of Asgardian mead hidden in the cupboard."

"Woah, seriously?" Darcy gaped at him. "Does Jane know that?"

Loki shook his head. "She is wholly unaware," he replied. "He has been concealing it in a carton of black licorice."

"I was wondering where that nasty-ass licorice came from!" Darcy exclaimed. "Damn. Well played, Thor. Well played."

"And seeing as how he is not here to defend his goods..." Loki trailed off, quirking an eyebrow at her. "Shall we?"

* * *

 

Jane Foster thought she'd seen it all. Norse deities falling from the sky, genetically enhanced super soldiers, and genius billionaire playboy philanthrobots, but this...this she never would have imagined in her wildest, most sleep-deprived dreams.

Hurriedly unlocking the door to the lab she burst in unannounced, calling out, "Darcy! Oh my god, I'm so sorry, I-"

The rest of her apology died on her lips when she found her intern curled up asleep on the floor, only that wasn't the strange part. What really blindsided her was who Darcy was curled up _with_   - a certain six foot three God of Mischief, who was currently snoring lightly into her hair with one arm slung loosely over her waist.

Neither of them had so much as twitched at the sound of Jane's loud arrival, and that's when the astrophysicist noticed the empty flask lying abandoned by Darcy's foot.

Shaking her head, Jane crouched down, fishing her little travel bottle of Advil out of her purse and leaving it on the floor next to her friend.

"Merry Christmas, Darce," she whispered, straightening up and quietly tip-toeing her way back to the door, making sure to keep it propped open wide.

As she wedged the doorstop into place, her eyes drifted back to the passed-out pair on the floor and Jane found herself instinctively smiling. Maybe it wasn’t quite so surprising after all, she mused. Besides, this was the season for unexpected miracles.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and when Darcy and Loki finally drag their half-dead, hungover butts back to Jane’s place the next day, Thor is practically bursting with delight because his second favourite tiny, fierce science lady has found happiness with his _brother_. What a thing. So he’s all ‘This calls for a toast! Come, drink! Jane, perhaps you would pour a fresh bottle of wine?’ (because if you’re gonna steal Thor’s secret stash of lab booze, he’s gonna troll you good in revenge), and in response to that, from where she’s still leaning heavily against the wall, Darcy weakly flips him the bird, Loki hits him with as much of a murderous glare as his headache allows, and then they both shuffle into Darcy’s bedroom to pass out for another three hours. The end :)


	8. The Thing About Socks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more little Christmas fic because I missed writing these two and I love this fandom <3  
> Happy 2017!

**The Thing About Socks**

If they gave medals for Christmas gift procrastination, Darcy would be sporting gold.

 

* * *

 

 

Darcy Lewis was a girl on a mission.

Or, more accurately, an epic procrastinator who was now working under one hell of a stressful, scarily looming deadline.

Christmas was only two days away and Thor’s gift was still so far from the realm of being done, it wasn’t even funny. Like not even a teeny tiny elf-sized amount.

So that’s how Darcy found herself parked on the common room couch in Stark’s tower, frantically stress-knitting her brains out.

‘Most wonderful time of the year’ her ass.

“Speak of this to anyone and I’ll strangle you with a set of twinkle lights,” she automatically threatened when she felt someone come up behind her, not sparing so much as a glance up as she finished another row of stitches. Time was of the mother-freaking _essence_. She didn’t have all day to stop and yap about cheerful holly jolly crap. “This is Thor’s present and _no one_ is gonna spoil it for him.”

“How can I spoil the surprise when I haven’t the slightest idea what it is?” Loki retorted, gracefully dropping down onto the opposite end of the couch as he eyed her bundle of yarn with a look of pure, unreserved disdain.

 “Obviously it’s a sock. Look, I even stitched little mew-mews on them,” she said proudly, holding her half-finished project out at arm’s length to admire it.

Loki blinked. “What?”

“Mew-mew,” Darcy repeated, looping one of her needles back into a stitch and starting up the next row. “You know, the hammer.”

“You speak of Mjolnir?” Loki questioned, looking at her like she was speaking some foreign, unknown language. Well, technically he always looked at her with some variation of that expression. Like she was an impossible brain-teaser he could never quite grasp a full understanding of.

It was a point of pride to be able to trip him up like that and Darcy felt a smug sense of satisfaction as he continued to stare at her with that cute little furrow of confusion between his brows. Ha. Where were his fancy All-Speak skills now?

Rolling her eyes, she answered, “Uh, _yeah_. That’s what I said. Mew-mew. Pretty great, huh?”

Loki eyed the sock with such an intensely critical look, Tim Gunn would probably be crying proud tears if he saw it.

“It looks repulsive,” he eventually stated.

“Pfft, you’re just jealous.  You know, if you ask nicely I might make you a pair with little horny helmets on them,” Darcy replied, waving the yarn in front of his face enticingly.

Loki grimaced, batting her hand away. “I would sooner die than be caught in possession of such a hideous garment.”

“Yeah?” Darcy’s eyebrows rose as she fixed him with a bland ‘well screw you too’ expression. “You should try that. Maybe this time you’ll actually stay dead.”

Loki stared at her, mouth opened to reply but he seemed to be stuck on exactly what to say to that.

Darcy cringed. “Sorry. Took that one a little too far, didn’t I.”

It took another minute or two of Loki straight-up gawking at her before he managed to get anything out. “You are...”

“Ballsy?” Darcy offered.

A barely-there smile lifted the corner of Loki’s mouth. “I was going to say tenacious.”

“Meh,” she shrugged, “same diff. So are you about done distracting me now? Cause I still have a whole other sock to finish and you’re kinda harshing my vibe.”

“Harshing your vibe,” Loki repeated slowly, and ooh boy, hearing that phrase come out of his mouth was a whole Christmas gift in and of itself.

Darcy bit her lip to keep from grinning. “Totally. Take your grumpy Grinch attitude somewhere else. It’s infecting my yarn and Darcy Lewis only knits with love, not hate.”

“Now Darcy,” Loki shook his head, feigning disappointment as he fixed her with a cocky, shit-eating grin so wide and devilish, Darcy could see exactly why ‘mischief’ was one half of his title. “That’s hardly kind of you to say. Where is your Christmas spirit?”

Ugh. That fucker.

Turning her attention back to her unfinished sock, Darcy swiftly ignored the question and got to work on her next series of stitches. Six rows to go. Eyes on the prize, Lewis. Tune out that stupidly frustrating fine piece of ass and power-knit like a boss.

“I swear to God,” she vowed, “if you don’t shut up I will ram these needles down your throat and cable knit your intestines together.”

Rather than deterring him, that only seemed to further intrigue Loki and he inched a little closer, one arm draped over the back of the couch as he leaned into her space. “How disturbingly creative,” he purred with a slow, unfurling grin.

Of course he had to be a masochistic weirdo. An unfairly attractive masochistic weirdo who was currently eyeing her like she was the last sugar cookie on the holiday dessert plate.

Darcy sighed, tossing her needles down onto the couch next to her. Looked like drastic measures  would have to be taken.

“Listen, buddy,” she started in her best ‘I am three thousand percent done with your shit and now you’re gonna hear about it’ tone. “I have a deadline, I have...” her voice wavered as Loki’s arm slipped down from the back of the couch, palm slowly coming to cup the back of her head, “...I have...” she tried again, and fuck, when did Loki’s face get so close? Why were his eyes so distractingly green? Where was she even trying to go with this rant?

“You have...?” Loki prompted, voice low and gaze flicking back and forth between her eyes and her mouth.

Darcy swallowed, heartbeat echoing loud in her ears as Loki closed his fist in her hair, giving a soft tug to tip her head back until their eyes met. “I...” she gave one last feeble attempt before trailing off, voice failing her.

She was about to have a Norse God kissing her was what she had.

And holy tap-dancing Jesus, she _wanted_ it.

Taking her wide eyes and stuttering breath for an answer, Loki bridged the gap between them, gentler than Darcy would have imagined, kissing her with a kind of confident control that would have turned her legs to jelly had she not already been sitting down. Hooray for small victories.

Bringing one hand to his shoulder, she curled her fingers into his shirt and kissed him back with an edge of challenge, rougher and more unrefined, an unspoken taunt of _is that all you’ve got_?

Surprising exactly no one, Loki took the bait.

With a growl - an honest-to-God _growl,_ holy hell that was hot - he forced her head further back, not as careful this time, and the surprise was enough to have Darcy’s lips instinctively parting as she sucked in an unsteady breath.

Loki took full advantage of that, swooping back in to kiss her harder, deeper, but still with that air of natural finesse that made her whole body shiver and _wow_ , that was good. That was all kinds of good. So what if she’d have to stay up ‘til 2 am to finish Thor’s gift. It was so definitely worth it to engage in a few rounds of tonsil hockey with so skilled a player.

Just as things were escalating from ‘great’ to ‘flipping fantastic’ and Loki was guiding her down onto her back bit by bit, mouth descending to taste along the side of her neck, reality – in the form of one ridiculously dressed billionaire Santa Claus – came crashing back.

 “Ho ho h- _oooly shit_.” Two steps into the room, Tony froze, decked out in a jingling Santa hat and carrying a bottle of booze under one arm as he made a horrified face. “Aw, seriously? You have to do that on the couch? _My_ couch? C’mon guys.”

“Um, whoops?” Darcy wiggled back up into a sitting position, belatedly trying to fix her hair as she offered a tiny, apologetic smile.

“You okay there, kiddo?” Tony asked, eyes moving unsurely between her and Loki.

“Oh totally,” Darcy confirmed, not-so-gently elbowing Loki in the stomach. “I’ve got him handled.”

“She has done nothing but insult and ridicule me,” Loki complained, scowling when her elbow made contact, though his voice sounded more pleased than annoyed by that development.

Tony flashed a quick smile in Darcy’s direction. “Eh, that sounds about right.”

“Did you come bearing presents?” Darcy asked hopefully, eyeing the bottle still tucked under Tony’s arm.

“Spiced rum,” Tony replied, giving it a slight shake that made the bottle’s contents slosh from side to side. “I was supposed to be boozy Santa, bringing the gift of holiday cheer and mild to moderate liver problems, but Santa’s not in much of a sharing mood anymore.” He grimaced. “I think he’s gonna need this whole bottle to un-see what he just saw.”

“It was first base only if that makes you feel any better,” Darcy offered.

“Ew, no, stop.” Tony looked like he was a second away from actually plugging his ears and chanting ‘la la la I’m not listening’.  “And take this stuff of nightmares elsewhere,” he added, waving his free hand in their general direction.

“Your room?” Loki cocked a suggestive eyebrow at Darcy.

“My room,” she confirmed, barely managing to hold back a grin.

“Gross,” Tony put in on the off- chance that either of them were still actually listening.

(They weren’t.)

* * *

 

“Hey.” Darcy poked Loki in the back with one of her knitting needles. “Don’t you dare fall asleep. It’s your fault I didn’t finish Thor’s gift so now you’re gonna stay up and keep me company ‘til it’s done.”

Sprawled flat on his stomach beside her, Loki tried to roll out of the poke-attack zone, sleepily swatting Darcy’s hand away. “For the eighth time,” he grumbled, “if you would let me finish it with _magic_ -”

“And for the eighth time, _no_ ,” Darcy retorted, diligently working away on sock number two now. “That totally defeats the purpose of giving a homemade gift.”

Loki made a grumpy noise and dug himself further under the blankets. “Your Midgardian traditions are stupid.”

“Your face is stupid.”

 “This entire argument is stupid.”

“Shut up and let a girl knit,” Darcy returned, and miracle of miracles, Loki actually seemed to _listen_.

He went quiet for a long stretch of time (enough for Darcy to complete rows 18 to 36) before eventually raising up on his elbows and softly breaking the silence.

“Darcy?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you truly create a pair adorned with miniatures of my helmet?”

Trying to hide her oncoming grin, Darcy kept her eyes trained down, needles still clacking away. “Well...” she answered, biting her lower lip as it began to curve upwards, “I could maybe be convinced.”

 


End file.
